


Take Your Hand Out of My Pocket

by tincanicarus



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Police, Forbidden Love, Lust at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-04-01 02:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincanicarus/pseuds/tincanicarus
Summary: James Howlett is a detective, and he's pretty good at his job. The best there is at what he does, some people (especially he himself) say. One time, he nearly catches the allegedly world's best jewel thief, known under the codename "Gambit".And that is just the beginning of this story.





	1. A Message

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this entirely self-indulgent little AU. Only warning so far: lots of swearing in here.
> 
> The title is a reference to the song from Sonny Boy Williamson II. Listen to it on [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCq_1EfrYN0).

“Detective Howlett?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Agents Persson and Inkster, Sir, Interpol.”

“Right… and what do you clowns want from me?”

“There’s something we want you to look at for us.”

 

Logan has a bad feeling about this, as he looks between the Interpol ID cards and the stony faces of the accompanying agents. A _bad_ feeling.

 

* * *

  
The curtains are flapping in front of the open window. Somehow, Logan feels as if he’s being laughed at, looking at the goddamn curtains, an open wine bottle on the table, a wine glass and a small puddle of drying wine on the floor.

It’s gonna be hard to get any kind of useful print off of a couple glass shards, Logan is aware, staring darkly at the mess. “Officer Ichiki, get as many of these as you can and send them to McCoy in Forensics.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hisako replies curtly, immediately setting on to the task. Logan appreciates that, the fact that he works with competent people in the department - even Hisako, who has just been promoted from Junior Officer, is a colleague he knows he can rely on. It gives him the opportunity to walk straight back out of the place instead of standing around being laughed at by a bunch of _curtains_.

 

“Whiskey?” asks Officer Lee when she comes into his office later, brandishing a flask.

“I’m on the clock,” Logan growls at her, and all but snatches the flask from her to drink it down like water. Jubilation, usually _Jubs_ or even _Jubilee_ if not _Officer Lee_ , just grins at him while he glares at her suspiciously after having emptied the flask. “Where did you get that?”

“Detective Pryde.”

“My _partner_ is encouraging me drinking on duty?”

“After the day you had? Sure.”

Logan grumbles, even as he feels some of his dark mood lifting a little. He works around a bunch of _fantastic_ women, which is more than a little unusual for a police department, but he likes them all, and for some weird reason they all seem to like his gruff, grumbly, unshaven self in return just as well.

“Also, I have even more bad news for you.”

“Oh, seven _blazes_ of fuckery,” Logan exhales, staring morosely at the sadly already empty flask.

“Hank says there’s no fingerprints to get off of the glass.”

“That slippery _bastard_ ,” and Jubilee ignores him, aware he’s not talking about Hank.

“But he _could_ get you a lip print.”

“A lip print,” Logan repeats, giving her a somewhat disbelieving stare over his desk. Lee shrugs her shoulders.

“Hey, you never know what might come in useful. And you know, on the bright side, I don’t think anybody else ever spooked _Gambit_ himself so bad he had to shatter a wine glass and jump out of a window.”

Logan snorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t matter how _closely_ I missed the bastard,” he argues, “I missed him all the same, jus’ like all the Detectives that tried before.”

“He’s the world’s most infamous jewel thief for a reason.”

“Yeah, and what does that get me?” Logan asks, refraining (but only just) from rolling his eyes. “Street cred? For _almost_ catching him? I don’t think so.”

 

* * *

 

That should’ve been the end of that, Logan thinks to himself. Only almost a year later, he gets reminded of that _Almost Catch_ by none other than Interpol Officials. Street cred for _almost catching_ Gambit is exactly what he gets.

Fucking Interpol.

 

“A year ago, in Yonkers, you got closer than anybody before or after to catching Gambit.”

“Seriously,” Logan says, and it’s not a question, “are you for fucking real.” Still not a question.

“We want you to come work with the FBI to get back on his trail.”

Logan doesn’t say anything to that, hoping that the way he looks at them appropriately conveys _what the fuck even is my life_ without any words.

“That means we want you to come to Washington, DC.”

 

* * *

 

“The Criminal Investment Division of the FBI,” Jubilee says, and sighs almost dreamily. Logan glares at her.

“Get off of my desk.”

“How many detectives get to _work_ with these people? As _detectives_?”

“You’re sitting on my paperwork.”

“She’s right,” Kitty puts in, herself sitting in the chair across from Logan, as _normal_ people do. They sit in the fucking _chairs_. “You got what’s practically a formal invitation to please help out the FBI. That's pretty extraordinary.”

“I like it here,” Logan grumbles, and Kitty smiles at him.

“Logan,” says Jubilee, “you had Interpol agents _knocking at your door_.” She sounds vaguely like she might start squealing any minute.

“You’re _still_ sitting on my papers, Officer Lee.”

“Get that stick outta your butt, _Detective Howlett_ ,” she gives back, imitating his tone, and doing it pretty well, “do you not recognize an amazing opportunity when it comes to bite you right in the left buttcheek?”

“Again,” Kitty says, a small smile playing around her lips, “I wouldn’t go with that exact wording, but I _agree_ with the sentiment.”

Logan looks from one to the other, now outright frowning. “Sounds like you want me to leave.”

“Oh, my god, Logan,” Jubilee sighs, now sounding exasperated, and Logan really doesn’t see how she has any right to take that tone with him, seeing as she’s _still sitting on his paperwork, goddamnit_. “We love you, okay? We will kick in the FBI’s doors if they don’t give you back once you caught your favorite slippery bastard.”

“I don’t have _favourite criminals_ ,” Logan protests, and for some reason, Jubilee just winks at him.

“Officer Lee, if you could leave us alone for a minute,” Kitty says, and it’s more of an order than a request, but formulated much nicer than Logan would’ve bothered to do. Jubilee salutes lazily, and _finally_ slips off of Logan’s paperwork.

“Aye, Sir.”

Another cheeky wave, then she’s closing the door behind her.

“She has me wonder, you know,” Kitty says, her tone of voice casual, “have _I_ been that uppity as an Officer?”

Logan snorts. “Believe me, Detective Pryde, you _are_ just as uppity today.”

Kitty raises her brows, amused, then her expression straightens into something more serious as she leans forward in the chair. “Logan, you know you’re the best at what you do.” In reaction, Logan smirks her.

“Stealin’ my lines, Kitty?”

“And obviously, we _like_ having you here. Chief Grey would say the same. As an asset, you’re invaluable to the department. And as a friend, you’re appreciated by everyone here.”

“Damn, you’re gonna make me blush,” Logan mutters, trying to frown and somewhat failing - but Kitty is on a roll, not letting him slow her down at all.

“But Jubs is right, you know, we wouldn’t let the FBI just _take you away_ from us, you can be damn sure we’d run in their door before that happens. So this would be more like a temporary assignment out of state. Washington is not _that_ far away.”

“Not ‘xactly walkin’ distance, either.”

“Most importantly, Logan, if you really don’t want to do this, of course none of us will smack you for it. But personally, I can only _allow_ it if you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to catch Gambit.”

Logan catches her gaze, surprised by the steely determination in her voice and expression - and finds himself stunned silent by what is clearly a challenge. For a few brief, tense moments, they just stare at each other silently, and then, suddenly, Kitty smiles widely.

“Then it’s decided,” she says, standing up, “you’re going.”

A huff, Logan rolling his eyes. “I ain’t so sure ‘bout that.”

“Oh, believe me, you’re _going_ ,” Kitty insists again, her eyes crinkling in amusement. Logan sends her a sceptical look, but knows better than to argue further, even if he’s still not convinced.

“Another thing,” he says instead, “rumor mill’s sayin’ you might be promoted to Sergeant.”

“You didn’t want the job,” Kitty says, “so I suppose the honor’s going to be mine instead. It’s not official yet.”

“Congratulations,” is Logan’s reply, and he lets the pride he feels colour his tone, “ya deserve it. And I know you’re gonna be a great Sergeant.”

“Thanks, Logan.” A small pause. “I’ll miss being your partner.”

“Another reason ya want me to pack up and go, eh?”

“There’s talks about maybe pairing you up with Jubilee, you know.”

“Sheesh. I don’t need even more sassin’ in my life.”

“Or maybe you do.”

“Get outta here.”

Kitty laughs at him, and does.

 

* * *

 

She was right, of course.

Only a week later Logan finds himself shuffled into the J. Edgar Hoover Building, the FBI’s headquarters in Washington, DC. The building is… underwhelming, and gives off a distinct impression of  _ Might Fall Apart Any Second _ that has Logan squint at it very intently, even as he’s through the doors and a first security check.

Their police department looks nicer than this wreck of an office cube. It’s enough to make a man doubt his decision at least a  _ little _ .

But while the building may not be very polished, the same cannot be said about the woman meeting him. Her suit is of such startling white that it’s almost blinding, and Logan immediately feels scruffy standing there in her proximity.

“Dismissed,” she says, and the agent that has been accompanying ( _ shadowing _ ) Logan until that point nods and turns to walk off without any further word, which,  _ okay, _ Logan gets it, the Lady is important. She gives him a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach her (very blue) eyes, and holds out her hand, shaking his firmly in greeting. “Detective Howlett, I am FBI Assistant Director Frost.”

Logan has to fight not to visibly react to that.  _ Frosty demeanour and name. _ “Nice to meet you,” he instead says, and that has Frost drop his hand with a quirk to her lips.

“Please. No point in pretending.  _ I _ don’t particularly like that you’re here, just so you know, and I am the head of the Criminal Investigative Division, as sad as it looks from the outside.”

“You sayin’ if I’m not effective here I can go home?”

“Definitely.”

“Cool,” Logan comments, off-handedly and  _ way _ too casually. The way her eyes narrow tells him he’s lucky he’s not really working for her, but he finds he appreciates her frankness, as cutting as it is.

“If I were you, I would keep any and all puns related to my name to yourself, Howlett. Anyways, you will not work with me,”  _ I don’t have time for this bullcrap, _ goes unsaid but strongly implied, “Agent Lensherr has been on the Gambit case, and he and his team will collaborate with you on it.”

“Lensherr?”

“Yes,” Frost confirms, giving Logan a look, “is there a problem?”

“No problem at all, ma’am,” Logan gives back, smiling with too many teeth, “but if that’s the  _ Lensherr _ I’m thinkin’ of, I’m gonna have to have words with someone back home, ‘s all.”

_ I’m gonna kill Charles, _ is what he’s thinking. Frost already looks bored though, so he marches onwards at her bidding without saying anything more, the both of them walking a corridor in complete silence until Frost stops at a door and knocks at it with such force that Logan idly contemplates how close she is to punch a hole right through it.

After the third knock, the door is  _ thrown _ open, a really irritated man standing on the other side. “ _ What? _ ” he barks at Frost, seemingly unconcerned that this is his superior. Frost gives him a sweet smile.

“Erik, your help from  _ Westchester _ has arrived.” She gestures at Logan, Lensherr only now taking note of him, while Logan takes note of how the mere  _ mention _ of Westchester has the Agent colour. The slight blush is a better look on him than the anger from five seconds earlier, at least.

“Thank you, Emma,” he says, curtly but still light years closer to  _ polite _ than his earlier outburst, and Frost -  _ Emma, _ Logan adds silently - rolls her eyes and walks away without so much as a bye-your-leave.

“Lovely lady,” Logan says, once she’s well out of ear-shot, and honestly kinda means it. Erik doesn’t deign the comment with a reply.

“Detective Howlett, right?”

“Correct. You must be Agent Lensherr.” They shake hands, and Logan grins at him. “Good to  _ finally _ meet you.”

“Oh jesus,” Lensherr mumbles, coughs, and waves Logan inside the room, where two women and one man look up from their work.

“Detective Howlett, this is my team,” Lensherr begins, pointing at the Agents, “Agent Darkholme, Agent Beaubier, and Agent Claremont. As you’ve probably been informed, we will collaborate with you on the Gambit case.”

Darkholme, her hair an unnaturally intense shade of red, gives Logan the kind of look that implies she’s about ready to eat him for lunch. “Oh, collaboration might be  _ fun, _ ” she basically purrs, and stands up to shake Logans hand herself, “if you like, you can call me Raven.”

“That how you greet all newcomers?” Logan asks wryly, shaking her hand. She’s the kind of woman that would no doubt tempt him outside of these specific circumstances, but he’ll be damned if he starts  _ anything _ with someone from the FBI. These people are sneaky. Raven grins at him.

“She kinda does,” the second Agent, Beaubier, a woman with long dark hair, confirms, and gives Logan a much less threatening smile, “Detective Howlett, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Logan agrees, shaking her hand in turn, “Beaubier sounds French.”

“Bingo,” comes the reply, “Jeanne-Marie Beaubier. I’m Canadian. French-Canadian, to be exact.”

“Can’t say quite the same ‘bout myself, I’m from Alberta,” Logan confesses, but still feels a little put at ease by having a countrywoman in the room. Sure, he’s gotten used to work with what’s mostly crazy Americans in his department in Westchester, but this place is new and strange to him as of yet.

Finally, he turns to shake the third Agent’s hand, Claremont, a bald man with a friendly face, who takes his hand easily and shakes it enthusiastically.

“Good to have you here. We’ve heard you’re the best,” he begins, ignoring Lensherr making cutthroat gestures behind Logan’s back, “especially from our good friend Commissioner Xavier.”

Erik sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Right. Now we’ve got that out of the way--”

“We’ve got  _ nothing _ out of the way,” Raven throws in, “didn’t even start talking about your on-again off-again relationship yet--”

Logan snorts, and Raven winks at him. He makes a mental note  _ never _ to underestimate her, and Erik does his level best to pretend he didn’t hear any of it.

“--let’s show the Detective why he’s here.”

 

Leaving a playing card behind from a French deck has been Gambit’s shtick for a while, but there’s never a trace of anything on them - no fingerprints, no DNA, not even as much as a  _ dust emote _ . Logan knows because the one they’d gotten from the scene of crime in their department has been through every type of test Hank could think of, and they got a great big fat of nothing off of it.

His first reaction when he sees the card, the ace of spades, with  _ handwriting _ on it, is to question it.

“You guys sure none of the Officers at the scene slipped and wrote on it?” he asks, and Beaubier shakes her head at him, although good-naturedly, while Lensherr clearly fights the urge to glare at Logan.

“Apart from the message,” Jeanne-Marie explains, “there’s nothing on the card. No fingerprint, no additional hint.” Logan nods, and that information is so typical Gambit that maybe he has to take this seriously, after all.

“And to answer your question, we’re sure,” Darkholme replies, voice dry, “mostly because not many people would have decided to write such a message.”

 

_ Mes amis _ , the scrawled message says,  _ I find myself bored with how easily I outrun you. Get Detective Howlett on the case. He made me sweat in Yonkers on the 18th of June last year. Merci, Gambit.  
_

 

Logan, of course, is quick to point out that Gambit is  _ playing _ with the FBI, much the same way a kitten plays with a mouse. The message just about oozes cocky superiority, and the fact Gambit is still leaving the FBI entirely in the dust even while his confidence should give him lots of space and opportunity to slip up is frankly goddamn shocking.

Erik looks tired, but also like he already heard all of it before, probably in his own head, pretty much agreeing with Logan on all points and then showing him his own office, which is a depressing, tiny thing with no windows.

“I hope you don’t expect me to spend time in here,” Logan says, and Erik shrugs.

“As long as you do your work and come to the meetings we have about it, I don’t care where you work. Just keep me updated. And come around here when you need something  _ from _ here.”

“So we’re clear, you don’t give a shit whether I’m in this office or not?”

“Pretty much.”

“We’ll get along swimmingly, then. Mostly ‘cause you won’t see much of me.”

For a moment, Erik seems unsure how to react, then he apparently accepts Logan’s words for what they are, nods at him, and walks off.

 

Logan throws one last look into  _ his _ office and walks straight out of the building, the Gambit file under his arm. He sure has his work set out for him.


	2. Tumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan doesn't know it yet, but the moment this Remy guy walks into his life, shit is truly hitting the fan for him.

The FBI’s file on Gambit feels like an exact replica of what Logan’s worked with a year ago, with some added thefts and no new leads. On the bright side, that means he is definitely very familiar with everything in it - but on the other hand, it _does_ imply that there’s absolutely nothing new to go on. He asks Agent Beaubier to generate a map of recent thefts and send it to him, which she does within an hour, and _then_ he has visual confirmation of the only interesting information that he’s already learned from the file.

Gambit has been sticking closeby, not straying too far in any direction. Sure, he still crosses the occasional state border, but it’s obvious he’s settled down (maybe in multiple safe houses, but not too far apart) somewhat and found a, well, a _rhythm_ , if there’s something like that for a jewel thief. Maybe there is.

It’s sure unusual, though, especially considering how expert thieves usually stay on the move, skipping countries on the regular, touring the world, doing crime, leaving any country within a week. Gambit used to be spreading his moves out a lot more - the only continent that Logan thinks has so far not been touched by his thefts is Australia (and even that cannot been said for sure - maybe he just didn’t leave his signature card, for example, just so that a couple thefts could only be traced back to him if someone was looking _very_ closely, and with Gambit in mind).

He taps his chin, looking at the map. No big travels means the thief feels secure. Add to that the message he left the FBI, and it’s obvious Gambit is _bored_. Poor dear. Logan huffs, somewhat amused, thinking to himself he’ll do his level best to try and help out with that--

And then pauses, because Jubilee comes to mind, calling Gambit his _favourite slippery bastard_ , which has Logan’s frown at his papers intensifying again. No time for that nonsense. He has a thief to catch.

The first two days, he works in his apartment. _Working_ translates mostly to building an old-fashioned board of everything he’s got on Gambit and then pacing in front of it, eventually, when he misses his team too much, facetiming Kitty (Jubilee calls him the _Laziest Texter of the Galaxy_ , which is fair enough, because he hates texting, avoids it whenever he can) to complain at her. He finds that’s the thing he needs the most - not necessarily someone working with him, because there’s not much info and therefore not much work at this stage, but someone to rant at who will indulge him, nod in the right places and bounce some ideas off of him. Logan doubts his FBI ‘colleagues’ would appreciate that overmuch, and what’s more, he doesn’t really want to try. In order to be able to do this, he needs a rapport of trust, needs to, preferably, know the person he’s talking to.

Jeanne-Marie is nice, Raven is interesting (in all the wrong ways), Claremont - what was his first name, Charlie? - is hard to read, for some reason, but comes across as the helpful sort, and Erik… well, Logan _really_ does not want to get involved into the largely public mess that is the relationship between Erik and the Commissioner in charge back home. But in any case, they’re virtually strangers, and Logan does not _want_ to take the time to seriously befriend any of them.

He wants to catch a thief and get back to the team that feels like _family_ to him, down to the permanently exasperated janitor and the annoying (but promising) new Junior Officer.

Still, on the third day, he starts itching with the need to _Do Something_. He hasn’t become a Detective (and refused all promotions) because he likes sitting on his ass in a stinky office (or even a nice apartment, whatever), but because he needs to get out there. Catch bad guys. Do his job in a way that is not just paperwork.

Logan grabs his notepad and a selection of non-confidential parts of the Gambit file, and goes out for a walk. He doesn’t walk _quite_ without a purpose, but he walks around the parts of the city of Washington that Gambit has been active in, sits in a café or two, jots down ideas as quickly as he crosses them out again.

He’s not being very productive, in short.

It’s driving him _crazy_.

Day five, he looks up to Raven dropping onto the bank next to him without preamble in a waffle house, and Logan sends her a dirty look over his strawberry waffle.

“What are _you_ doing here,” he says, not quite making it a question. It’s pretty obvious that the FBI’s keeping an eye on him, even if it is a complete waste of resources - he doesn’t know if it’s something organized, if Erik decided this, or someone even higher up, or if it’s just Darkholme’s own initiative, but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter.

“Not happy to see me?” Raven asks, smiling at him, just a little obnoxiously, and Logan huffs. “Clearly you’re getting antsy. Only having one case to work on, and it not going anywhere.”

It’s annoying how _right_ she is, and Logan decides to ignore her, cutting his waffle up and putting a piece of it in his mouth, chewing rather angrily. Next to him, the Agent leans back with a knowing smirk. It’s a good thing Logan isn’t looking at her, or he’d grow even more annoyed.

“Maybe you need a distraction,” she suggests, sweetly, and Logan pauses chewing as her hand lands square on his thigh, seemingly just to rest there, but with enough pressure that it is impossible to ignore how close she is to just grabbing his groin.

Logan swallows. “I’m not here for those kinda games.”

“Does it matter? Why _not_ have some fun while you’re here?”

“I’m not sayin’ no to sex in general,” Logan tells her, while her fingers dig into his thigh, and he can imagine sleeping with her would be an exciting mix of pleasure _and_ pain, always toeing the line to violence, but he likes to think he’s not that stupid all the same, “but I ain’t having sex with anyone in your organisation, and now stop fondling me under the table. This is a goddamn waffle house.”

He doesn’t bother lowering his voice for any of it, and Darkholme throws him an annoyed look as some heads swivel around to give them looks ranging from _vaguely interested_ to _appalled_ , but she removes her hand quickly, putting her elbows on the table.

“Ever had a sexual harassment complaint?” Logan asks, idly, and Darkholme sits up even straighter.

“Very funny, Howlett,” she hisses, obviously not very happy with him at that point. The detective shrugs his shoulders, chews on another forkful of waffle.

“Honestly, Darkholme, if the circumstances were different, I wouldn’t take much convincing. But things being what they are, I ain’t getting myself into a mess here.”

“As if,” Raven says, rolling her eyes, “men, always acting as if it needs to be something complicated, when a girl just wants to have fun. If you get off your high moral horse that’s based on our nonexistent working relationship, do you have an actual _reason_ to shoot me down?”

She’s still trying to make him come around, Logan notes, frowning at her. He wonders what her angle is, because _clearly_ there is one, but for the life of him, he can’t quite imagine what that would be. But he’s spared having to answer, as someone else steps towards the table in that moment.

“Maybe he already has a date,” comes a Southern drawl, and both Raven and Logan give the stranger twin looks of surprise, a man Logan guesses to be in his early Thirties, standing there and grinning easily at them, shoulder-length auburn hair falling not quite into his eyes.

Raven recovers quicker than Logan does, her voice full of sarcasm. “Not saying no to sex,” she repeats Logan’s earlier words, “for some reason, I didn’t figure you to be the type to pick up pretty boys on Tinder, Howlett.”

She gives him a reproachful look, Logan raising his brow at her. He has _no idea_ what she’s talking about - what the hell is a _tinder?_ \- but if it gets her off his back, he’s willing to play along, and indeed she gets up, giving the newcomer a glare, and disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

The stranger sits down across from Logan, all long limbs and easy grace, and smiles at him quite carelessly. “Whew,” he says, “tough woman.”

“Sure,” Logan agrees, slowly, a little puzzled with this new development, “and who’re you?”

“What, you don’t remember your Tinder date?” the other asks, and his smile just makes him even more attractive, “name’s Remy, nice to meet you, Mister…?”

“Jus’ Logan,” comes the response, Logan shaking his head, “since we’re apparently on a date, the _Mister_ thing feels wrong.”

Remy grins even brighter at that. “It might have been a lil’ ruse to help ya out, but I wouldn’t mind makin’ it an actual date, Logan.”

 _Well_. Apparently it’s one of those weird kinda days were people flirt with Logan a lot. He looks at the guy, shrugs his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “Get yourself a waffle and we can call it a date, Remy, eh?”

The other wastes no time ordering a waffle and coffee for himself, giving Logan appraising looks as he slides back into his seat. His gaze is intense enough Logan starts feeling a little fidgety under it, almost grateful when Remy opens his mouth again.

“I’d assumed but you _are_ single, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Logan confirms, and Remy grins.

“Lucky me.”

 _Sure laying it on thick_ , Logan thinks, taken aback. It’s rare that men are quite that forward with him, also because, back home, he has a _Ladies’ Man_ reputation that everyone seems to be aware of, but it is less known that his interest spreads far wider than the fair sex.

Not many would _dare_.

The fact that this skinny guy _would_ makes him… maybe somewhat more intriguing. Logan chews on his waffle, considering it. It’s possible that, if Remy keeps coming onto him, he might go for it. Attractive, cocky, a hint of _Louisiana_ on his tongue, and a redhead on top.

It’s well known he has a bit of a type concerning that particular hair colour.

“What’s that tinder thing, by the way?”

Remy looks at him in obvious, open-mouthed shock, then tilts his head back, laughing. It takes him a moment to calm down enough to get his phone out and introduce Logan to the app.

“After all,” he says with a wink, “y’gotta know to tell people when they ask how we met, _non?_ ”

Logan can’t quite suppress his laughter in response, and that’s the ongoing theme that afternoon. Remy is charming (probably a little _too_ charming for his own good), funny, and seems to eat anything put in front of him like he’s making a porn production out of him. While he’d like to claim the way Remy looks at him from under half-lidded eyes, licking jam off of his fingers and humming noises of contentment doesn’t make him lose all his cool, Logan would be _lying_. Remy obviously knows exactly what he’s doing, and got it in his head to seduce him quite effectively, if the foot that’s basically sticking to Logan’s calf under the table is any indication.

They’ve been sitting there for two hours when Logan looks at the time with a little jolt. Shit. Remy’s been way too effective of a distraction, he hasn’t even so much as _thought_ of Gambit for two hours, a thought that works on his libido not quite unlike a really cold shower.

“I gotta go,” he says, and Remy _honest to God_ pouts at him, sticking out his lower lip with a prolonged _aww_ of disappointment.

Part of Logan wants to sit right back down again and kiss him stupid. _Ugh._ Maybe he does need an actual cold shower. He resists the urge, if only just, but he pauses all the same.

“Wanna do this again?”

“ _Bien sûr_ ,” Remy all but purrs, “next Tuesday? The café down the street?”

Next Tuesday it is. Remy doesn’t try to either give Logan his number or get Logan’s number for himself, only tells him the café’s name and address. Logan recognises it as one of the cafés he’s been sitting in working the last three days.

Probably a coincidence.

 

“So, to sum it up,” Lensherr is saying, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table, which annoys Logan to no end, “you got nothing.”

“I understand Gambit got your hopes up,” he drawls in response, “but I’m no _magician_.”

“Our file _is_ somewhat pitiful,” Jeanne-Marie points out, and Raven snorts a small laugh.

“Funny way to pronounce _embarrassing_ ,” she says, and Erik throws both of them a displeased look.

“Do you think you’re being helpful here, ladies?” he asks, and Raven holds up her hands, palms outwards, while Jeanne-Marie folds her own in front of her on the table, a wry smile in place.

“Just saying it like it is,” Raven points out, and Jeanne-Marie gives a one-sided shrug and nods.

“Anyways,” Logan interjects (he’s not going to argue with them about the quality of their file, even if both _pitiful_ and _embarrassing_ are fitting descriptors in his opinion), “I’ve been trying to narrow down some potential hidey-holes. Places that Gambit _would_ be staying at, taking his habits and past preferences into account, as well as recent hits of his. Of course it would be a little careless to play into expectations like that, but that doesn’t mean he _wouldn’t_. We know the guy is spoiled. Unless he’s really desperate, which he obviously isn’t, he wouldn’t go for some hole in the wall. It’s the swanky places we gotta look out for.”

“It’s something,” Jeanne-Marie says, “but it isn’t _much._ ”

“It’s basically nothing,” Logan admits, exchanging an easy grin with her, “just like Lensherr says. What I need is a fresh scene.”

“That’s just tempting fate, that is,” interjects Claremont. Logan gives him a toothy grin.

“I’m counting on it. The tiniest slip up, and Gambit’s gonna be in more trouble than he can see coming.”

 

It’s on Monday that he gets the call. “You got your wish,” Lensherr grumbles at him through the phone, “Gambit’s hit a new target early this morning.”

 

Everything about the crime scene is unusual. First, Gambit hit a private collection, which is unusual in and of itself - usually, the thief goes for the museums, the professionals, the more complex the security system, the better. But when Logan steps in to the room where the jewels have been stolen, the officer from the local force explaining that _nothing has been touched_ , his eyes immediately go to the curtains, swaying softly in front of the open window.

It’s a message. With less words involved, sure, but with more nerve, more provocation. It feels… more personal, somehow, to Logan. Gambit knows he’s here, back on his tail, and he’s not disapproving. There’s no playing card on the scene, but a bottle of wine (Logan recognises it immediately as being the same fancy wine he’s already had on the crime scene a year ago) with a small card around the neck of the bottle.

 

 _To: the Detective._ _  
_ _From: Gambit._

 

“You were right,” Raven is saying, and Logan rolls his eyes at her tone.

“No need to sound so surprised,” he interjects, but the Agent ignores him.

“A bottle of this exact wine has been stolen three weeks ago. It’s been filed with the police, since it’s a five hundred dollar bottle. But there was so little to go on that it was decided to have been an inside job. Apparently the babysitter _and_ the gardener were fired, even though the theft couldn’t be pinned on anyone.”

“The neighbors?”

“Nobody’s seen or heard anything. Although apparently one couple had pretty loud sex that night.”

Logan snorts, and Darkholme raises a brow at him, only slightly suggestive. “Can’t have been me,” he tells her, “I wasn’t in the city.”

Agent Claremont laughs out loud, then slaps a hand over his mouth when Erik glares at him. Logan thanks Raven for the information, and she lets him scroll through the tablet on his own for a while, the agents filing out of the meeting room one after another.

Once he’s alone, Logan puts his boots on the table, frowning at the tablet on his lap. Gambit has been preparing, has been _planning_ for this, and he’s making a game out of it now. He doesn’t seem to be taking Logan terribly seriously, and that fact, more than anything else, _annoys_ Logan.

Cocky son of a bitch better start looking over his shoulders.

 

Remy has his hair pulled back into a casual bun, and gives Logan a surprised little smile with a soft “wasn’t sure you’d be comin’” thrown in there. Logan sits down heavily, and gives the other a critical look.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, y’know,” Remy says, and seems to grow a little more confident, smile widening, “gettin’ busy at work. Forgettin’ all ‘bout lil’ old me. Changin’ your mind.”

“Changin’ my mind on what?” Logan asks, noting the way Remy’s accent seems to thicken as the other’s smile widens.

“Wantin’ to fuck me.”

Logan promptly inhales his coffee (black, with too much sugar, and he blames Remy for that, nobody should have to pour sugar into their coffee while being looked at by this guy, it’s _dangerous,_ okay), starting to cough as the liquid’s trying to get out of his airways again, Remy magnanimously slapping him on the back to help him out, wearing the most _innocent_ expression.

“Now wait jus’ a minute,” Logan breathes, once he’s more or less gotten his breath back, “I’ve never said anything ‘bout…”

Remy smirks. “And y’ain’t denyin’ it, _homme._ ”

It’s hard to reply to that, Logan thinks, since it is _true,_ and he grumbles in response, low in his throat. Somehow, Remy doesn’t seem very discouraged by it, and the kicker is, when he brings his spoon to his mouth to lick it clean in what is clearly an unnecessarily thorough way to lick any spoon ever, Logan stares at him, and they both know what he’s thinking of.

 _Fuck,_ Logan thinks. He barely takes note of paying and walking outside, too focused on every move Remy is making, the way he tilts his head, the way he’s smiling, and his wandering hands…

“Hotel?” Remy asks, and his voice is low and full of promise. It takes Logan a moment to scrap together the two brain cells necessary to reply, with the way the fingers of Remy’s right hand rub over his arm.

“There’s two reasons to have sex in a hotel in my experience, an’ that would make ya either a hooker or married.”

Remy laughs at that, and there’s _something_ he’s doing with his voice, Logan can’t explain it, but just hearing the other talk has him… way more excited than he should be, right now. “Y’know what they say… whores get paid, ‘m a slut. An’ definitely _not_ married. Don’t overthink it, Logan. I jus’ like not havin’ to clean up afterwards. An’ I guess I’ve gotten a taste of love hotels in Japan.”

“You’ve been to Japan?”

“Wanna talk ‘bout that right now?” Remy asks, his hand trailing down, from Logan’s arm to his hip, and Logan _growls_.

“No,” comes the clipped reply, and he pulls the other’s head down for a rough kiss.

“ _Yes, please,_ ” breathes Remy against his lips, and he is hot and pliant against Logan, submitting easily to Logan’s lead and _wanton._ Logan feels like there’s liquid fire in his blood, has a hard time focusing when Remy draws back, to say that there’s a hotel right across the street.

At that point, Logan would’ve agreed to fuck him in the alley in broad daylight. He doesn’t _care_ anymore, not enough to waste time or energy to protest, and ends up all but dragging Remy into the hotel.

 

All the way through paying for the room, getting the keycard, then setting out to search for the room, the fire doesn’t abate for one goddamn second. Logan feels distinctly like he’s close to literally exploding, as he keeps stabbing the keycard into the card reader on the door to the room, Remy’s mouth on his _neck_ of all places, he can’t - “god _fucking_ damnit, if you don’t stop touching me for five seconds, we are not going to make it inside,” he growls, and Remy laughs, not moving from Logan’s neck at all, so Logan can feel that laugh vibrating in his bones (what about this stupid, idiot Cajun laughing into his neck is so sexy, he has no idea, but for some reason, it just _is_ ), and without even looking he grasps the card, pulls it out of Logan’s hand and unlocks the door, all the while apparently trying to give Logan a hickey like they’re a pair of teenagers.

_Unbelieveable._

Tumbling into bed is the most natural thing, and if Logan had a second to pause and think about it, he’d marvel at how quickly Remy got him to this point, how he can hardly remember feeling this intense attraction, this chemistry, with what’s basically a stranger ever before - Remy is beautiful, straddling him, Logan’s hands at his hips, shedding both of their clothes in a way that’s both hurried but graceful, giving the impression that he would honestly be really good at a striptease.

“C’n I ride you?” he asks, while his teeth are scraping at Logan’s nipple and his hips grinding straight into Logan’s groin, and this is - maddening, _insane,_ too intense for words.

“I dunno, can you?” Logan asks back, again feeling Remy’s chuckle vibrate at his skin, and draws the other up to kiss him again, because clearly there’s not enough kissing happening here.

“Takin’ this as a challenge, Logan.”

“Good. That’s how it was meant.”

“ _Oh,_ I’ll ride ya so good y’won’t ever forget ‘bout it.”

“Fuck, Remy--”

“Hm, ‘s the idea. From now on, anybody else do this,” and Remy holds Logan’s gaze, the intensity there leaving Logan unable to look away even if he wanted to, as the other trails his hand down to quickly undo Logan’s belt, the button of his pants, then drawing the zipper down, all the while staring in Logan’s face instead of at what he’s doing, “you’ll be thinkin’ of _me._ ”

There’s a note of possessiveness, maybe even _jealousy,_ in there that should be surprising, provided they don’t even _fucking know each other,_ but Logan is too far gone, too hot, to be anything other than turned on by it, not able or really willing to analyse what is happening here beyond the burning arousal and the promise of sex.

All he’s aware of is that he _wants,_ so badly that he feels if Remy doesn’t get out of his pants in the next five seconds, he’ll shred them apart himself.

“Shit, yeah, Remy, come _on,_ want you so bad…”

The startled moan that escapes the Cajun is the sweetest sound Logan’s ever heard. He wants more of that.

 

Logan isn’t the youngest anymore, but Remy proves close to insatiable. The afternoon bleeds into evening and the night with Logan barely aware of it, room service is called once (turns out, Remy likes being spoiled, and if he’s not getting spoiled, he will spoil himself, thank you very much) and all the while there’s barely a moment when they’re not touching. There’s a simple pleasure in this, familiarising himself with the feel of Remy’s skin, the taste of his sweat, the sounds he makes when Logan’s moving gently, slowly, and the sounds he makes when he is doing the opposite.

They seem to have fallen into each other effortlessly, and Logan doesn’t really understand it, doesn’t really understand how or why, but that will not keep him from enjoying it all the same - no two people are ever exactly the same, and with Remy, there’s a chemistry there that makes it feel _right_ somehow.

 

Logan wakes up with his limbs aching in the most pleasant way possible, stretching and keeping his eyes closed - the room smells of sex, the sheets are sticky, and he is alone. That last observation has him rise to a sitting position, looking around the room. The other side of the bed is mussed, but empty, cold. Through the window, neither him nor Remy having bothered to draw the curtains, he sees the first rays of sunshine dancing over the horizon. Dawn is breaking. It must be around 6 am, Logan guesses, and he slips out of bed, stretching his arms over his head.

Remy must’ve disappeared in the middle of the night, and Logan shakes his head, huffing. _Typical._ One night of fun, of crazy chemistry, never to be seen aga--

He sees the paper on the nightstand, neatly folded, the sight putting a stop to his thoughts, berating himself inwardly, because he’s not in his early twenties anymore, his heart should not skip a beat at the possibility of getting a hot guy’s number or some shit. Still, he’s hoping that’s what that is. A means of contact, because as crazy and stupid this might have been, he wants to see Remy again.

Unfolding the paper bears a vague sense of disappointment, even as anticipation settles itself into Logan’s belly.

 

_Same café next week. - R_

 

Logan frowns at the note, irritated with how _useless_ it is, no number, no means of contacting the other, not even so much as a _‘this was fun’_ and _then_ an assumption of Logan wanting to do this again? Even if it’s true, that’s just presumptuous. Remy needs to learn manners, clearly. (And maybe, even if Logan doesn’t really want to admit it, he would’ve liked taking the other to breakfast.) He slaps the paper back onto the nightstand, stomping into the bathroom to wash up.

 _Cocky bastard,_ Logan thinks, uncharitably, but his thoughts soon take another turn as he’s in the shower, circling back to the night, and, well, all the _fun_ they’ve had. Feeling somewhat betrayed by his body, but at the same time unable to stop the HD replay of Remy moaning and his body’s natural reaction to it, Logan takes himself in hand, jacking off quickly.

 

When he walks back into the room, he checks his phone, which blinks at him with a missed call. Ah, crap. The FBI. Sighing, because this is already promising to be one hell of a day which he never signed up for, Logan calls Lensherr back, hardly surprised when Erik answers the call immediately, not bothering to waste time on greetings.

 

“Gambit’s hit a museum a couple hours ago.”

“Tell me where and I’m on my way,” Logan gives back, one-handedly pulling his pants up his legs - but pausing when Erik tells him the address. Ending the call quickly, he buttons his pants up, and walks over to the window, throwing it open and leaning outside.

The museum in question is a couple buildings farther down the road, visible from where Logan’s leaning out the window.


	3. It Ain't Fucking Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It could've been easy. Maybe. But fuck it, Logan's not the type for that, especially not when he's way too busy being seduced.
> 
> Uh, I mean, resisting the seduction. Of course. Right?

The card Gambit left at the scene is the Jack of Hearts, and Logan can’t help the churning in his belly. Somehow he feels as if he’s just blindly waded into deep shit, and now he’s about to drown in it. With the crime scene being as polished as ever, the meeting he has with the Agents on it remains useless, and Logan finds himself sitting in the meeting room on his own afterwards, glaring at a piece of paper and a copy of the message left a little over a week ago, asking for his presence.

Looking at the two handwritten messages, it is all too obvious that the script is not the same.

Like the two messages have been written by two different people. Logan scowls.

“You’re still here?” comes a voice, and Logan looks up at Jeanne-Marie, a little surprised.

“Didn’t hear ya comin’ in again,” he says in lieu of answering the (probably rhethorical) question, and the woman gives him a small quirk of her lips.

“No, you were too busy trying to set paper on fire with your eyes.”

Logan huffs, leaning back in his seat and giving the Agent a look. She just raises her brows in response, obviously content enough just waiting him out on this.

She would fit in well in their little department in Westchester, Logan thinks to himself, grudgingly handing it to her that she seems to know what she’s doing.

“How likely do ya feel it is that Gambit’s Cajun?”

“Cajun?” Jeanne-Marie repeats, drawing her brows together in thought, “because of the French, you mean? About as likely as him being Canadian, French, or just an admirer of the language. It’s not like he tends to leave letters at crime scenes, so from a linguistic standpoint, we cannot possibly know.” She pauses, giving Logan a piercing look. “But you know this, and still ask me. Is it possible you have a lead you’re not sharing with us?”

The detective rolls his eyes, unimpressed with her tone. “If any of this investigation of mine amounts to  _ anything _ , Agent, you will  _ know _ .” He stands, then, putting both papers into his personal Gambit-folder (the pieces don’t fit, yet, and it is fucking weird to put a note a  _ lover  _ left you in the same place as your material concerning a master thief, but his gut, still churning, says it’s  _ right _ ). “Until then, I’d appreciate if ya could keep your personal case of FBI-induced paranoia to yourself.”

Beaubier nods, pulling a face. “Yes, of course. Sorry, Logan. If you ever want to bounce ideas off of me…”

“I know where to find ya,” Logan interrupts, raising a hand in lieu of saying goodbye, and walking out of the conference room without any further ado.

Of course she was right. It’s not like Logan’s a complete beginner at his job,  _ thank you _ , he knows to trust his instincts, and this suspicion he’s felt of Remy after learning of the newest heist is more than he’s needed before to tell his team about something or else. Sure, Logan doesn’t have enough on Remy to even question him in any official capacity, and the FBI couldn’t do much more at this point either, but…

Logan tries to tell himself it is because he doesn’t know enough yet, has nothing concrete, but that’s not good enough. Usually, even with facts looking this way, with things being as of yet undefined and foggy and the suspect more than a little slippery, he would  _ still _ share with his partners.

He doesn’t in this case, not really because he doesn’t trust any of the Agents (even though he really doesn’t trust them, he does trust them to do their jobs, at least mostly), but because Remy has made it  _ personal _ . Whether or not he has anything to do with Gambit, Logan cannot just give out his name, not  _ anymore _ . Bad enough he’s slept with someone who’s now become a suspect, but he doesn’t understand this - Remy, Gambit - yet, and he feels he needs to get to the bottom of it before dragging the other’s name through the mud, or, worse, the Interpol database.

If Remy is Gambit, then Jubilee calling him Logan’s  _ favorite slippery bastard _ has just reached entirely new heights of fucked up.

Logan gets drunk out of his wits that evening. Whoever’s shadowing him while he does apparently decides not to interfere. Just as well. He has practice in getting drunk on his own, anyways.

 

* * *

 

 

The days crawl by slowly after that. Turning to the Gambit investigation is becoming frustrating, since anything that does not pertain to Remy is near impossible to advance on, and even the  _ Remy _ question itself - Logan can do nothing but  _ overthink _ it, getting nowhere fast.

Hitting walls is doing nothing for his mood, that much’s for sure. 

Storm, Black Cat, Fantomex, of all the legendary, maybe even  _ mythical _ thieves of the modern day, this one has become something Logan’s never signed up for.  _ Gambit _ . It is becoming too personal. Part of him refuses to acknowledge the connection to Remy, because loathe as he is to admit it - Remy has wormed his way under his skin in a shockingly short amount of time.

What they have is physical, but it would be so easy for it to become more.

Logan may be a stubborn, bull-headed jerk, but he’s not an  _ idiot _ , thank you - he recognises the signs. Falling for Remy, the beautiful, out-of-his-league man would be one of the easiest things he’s done in his life so far.

Maybe he’s already dangling over that cliff.

Oh, this is bad.

This is  _ so bad _ .

Logan wipes furiously at his eyes, and glares at the half-empty whiskey glass he’s holding. Damn alcohol making him sentimental. There’s no time for that, anyways. He has a job to do. Just… finish it, go back to Westchester, put all of this out of his mind.

He’s still glaring at the glass in his hands.

“Who am I trying to convince here,” he says out loud in the quiet of his room, and brings up his free hand to rub at his aching forehead. This is driving him out of his goddamned mind - he’s about to lose his last few bits of sanity, here, and it’s that thought that has him grab for his phone, dialing a number before he has time to question the instinct, the urge.

“Hello?” comes a sleepy voice at the other end, and Logan winces. He didn’t look at the time - it must be sometime deep into the early morning hours.

“Sorry, Chuck. Shoulda waited to call.”

“ _ Logan? _ ” the voice sounds immediately more awake, the surprise in Xavier’s tone undeniable, “what’s the matter?”

Privately, Logan allows his lips to quirk into a little half-smile. He’s always appreciated the Commissioner’s quick leaps. Charles Xavier is the type to be two, three steps in any given conversation. Which is why it would be a good idea to consider his wording before blurting just about anything, but, well, it’s late - early - and the alcohol has muddled his brain just a little, so blurting is what he does.

“I wanna drop the assignment.”

“Elaborate,” says Charles, and his tone has switched over to  _ commanding _ in a heartbeat. Old bossy bastard. Logan huffs into the connection.

“The Gambit case is doing my head in, Chuck. I want to come back to Westchester.”

“What have I told you about calling me that?” asks Charles, mildly, not waiting for a response, “and also, request denied. You’re staying on the case.”

Logan blinks. “What, just like that?”

“Yes. Did you think I’d say  _ yes and amen _ to you running away?”

“ _ Running away? _ ” Irritation is now coloring Logan’s voice, the detective not bothering to hide it. Any normal person in his position would think of the career first and definitely never mouth off to the Commissioner, but Logan’s never really been the type for that. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I must say, your brand of insubordination remains refreshing,” Charles muses, having the nerve to sound  _ amused _ , of all things. “But Logan, you’re telling me you want to run. If what you told me just now was the whole truth, you would not call me and ask for permission and we both know it. Instead you’d just have packed, turned up in front of my door to inform me of your decision, and that would have been that.”

Grinding his teeth, Logan remains quiet. He hates it, but Chuck is  _ right _ .

“The fact that you called me,” Charles continues, calm as ever, “means that you wanted to hear me tell you  _ no _ . So the case is difficult, and you’re not making headway. Suck it up. You’re the best at what you do, and you’ve been given the dubious honor of being regarded as the only one  _ capable _ of bringing Gambit in. So hurry up and get it done so you can come back here, the department misses you.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yes. For some reason, they’re much easier to handle when you’re around. Jean keeps telling me I’m  _ imagining _ things, but I feel if you take too long, they’ll come and collect you personally.”

“What, run in the door of the FBI and kidnap me?”

“You think I’m joking,” sighs Charles, and Logan damn near laughs. Shit, he  _ loves _ his department. “So, what do you say? Feeling better about staying now that I’ve ordered you to?”

“Fuck off,” Logan says, reflexively, and after a moment of quiet, adds, “yeah, actually. Thanks I guess.”

“Always glad to help.”

“By the way, Chuck, how come you haven’t been calling me every day asking about Lensherr? Obsessed as you are, I’d have expected to be pulled right in the middle of your ridiculous love life.”

“Ah, well,” Charles says, and his tone is one of vague embarrassment.

“No.”

“You would probably be right, but, it just so happens…”

“No.”

“...that I’m currently in his bed, so…”

“Not  _ again _ . Do you even remember what happened the last time?” Logan asks, exasperated. Goddamn Charles. And goddamn at himself, because why does he have to  _ care _ so much?

“Of course I do. I know he’s an ass, but Logan… I’m in love with that ass.”

“Oh,  _ fuck off _ .”

“Gladly. Goodnight, Logan. Uh, you’re not gonna tell Jean and Kitty about this, right?”

Logan hangs up without gracing that with a response.

 

Charles deserves that much.

 

* * *

  
  


Logan considers not meeting Remy, that week. It would probably be the right thing to do; he’s working the case with somewhat fresh motivation, and the way it remains a pain in his butt becomes a bit more challenge rather than simply torture, which means he’s somewhat back to his old self.

So he considers not meeting Remy, but he considers it in that way in which you consider things when you know, even if you don’t want to admit to it, that you’re not gonna do it anyways.

There is simply no way for Logan to stay away. Not really. Even so, however, he doesn’t acknowledge the truth of the matter until he’s standing in front of the café, exhaling deeply and briefly closing his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts. It’s fine. He’ll sit Remy down, keep his cool, and tell him--

“Logan!” His eyes snap open and he turns to see Remy, grinning wide and happy, apparently  _ also _ 10 minutes early, the total  _ fucker _ . This way, there’s no time for any more mental preparation, and that’s what Logan’s blaming the fact on that he’s a little dazed as Remy steps closer, leans in for a small kiss, mostly just a peck on the lips, and Logan - Logan exhales, lips parting, and grabs the back of Remy’s neck to keep him there for a  _ real  _ kiss.

When he lets go and they separate, it is Remy’s turn to look dazed, and Logan feels smug satisfaction curling up in his belly, even as it mixes in with a much less comfortable feeling of dread. The bad feeling is only slightly abated by Remy’s smile.

“I been dreamin’ of kissin’ ya, an’ y’ain’t disappointin’,” the Cajun drawls, his accent coming in  _ strong _ (it thickens and lessens in waves, and Logan finds that fascinating, can’t really make heads or tails out of what the factors are for him to do it, but being endlessly charmed all the same - it feels a little like the  _ real _ Remy comes out when it happens, whatever  _ that’s _ supposed to mean).

_ Fire _ . “Fuck,” Logan whispers, fingers curling in Remy’s collar. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him-- why he seems to be unable to think straight as soon as Remy touches him,  _ smiles at him _ , but it is there.

_ Maybe I’m wrong _ , he thinks, looking at Remy’s smile, and he’s aware he  _ wants _ to believe it.  _ Maybe I’m wrong, the pieces don’t fit, maybe I’m just being paranoid... _

“Where are ya?” Remy interrupts his thoughts, a worried little line between his brows, touching Logan through his coat and Logan finds it  _ way _ too hard to think straight with how his skin seems to tingle even through the layers of clothing wherever Remy touches him.

“Remy.”

“Oui?” Remy’s voice is all soft and smiles, something naughty curling at the corner of that smirk.

“Let’s go directly to the hotel.”

“I ain’t gon’ need any convincin’,” Remy laughs, and leans in again for another kiss. “Feels good t’know how eager y’are.”

It’s embarrassing how true it is.  _ Eager _ . If anything, it’s an understatement. Logan snorts, and shakes his head.

“I got one condition.”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta know more ‘bout you.”

“Like what?”

“Just stuff,” Logan says, and when Remy chuckles, he grumbles. “Your full name.”

“Only if ya tell me yours,  _ mon cher _ .”

“Drivin’ a hard bargain,” Logan comments, sarcastically, rolling his eyes but also feeling his lips quirk up at the corners despite himself. “James Logan Howlett.”

“Y’go by your middle name?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting.”

“Just like it better than James, nothing more to it. Your turn.”

“Remy Étienne LeBeau.”

There’s a moment of silence, Logan just blinking at the other wordlessly, and doing that until Remy exhales in a sigh, looking amused. “What?”

“You made that up.”

“ _ Ferme-la _ ,” Remy laughs, “I did  _ not _ .”

“There’s no way your name is literally  _ Remy Étienne the Beautiful _ .”

“Y’gotta suck it up,  _ homme _ , or I won’t suck  _ you _ .”

“Right, pretty boy.”

“I  _ am _ pretty.”

“That you are,” Logan agrees easily, and Remy winks at him in a incredibly obnoxious way, which makes Logan laugh.

He must be wrong. He  _ must _ be.

Falling into bed with Remy the second time is the same, and it is different, as it was the first time. Logan can’t seem to keep his hands and lips and teeth off of the other for one hot second, and the sounds Remy makes are something he would be recording if he had the presence of mind to do anything like that. None of that has changed.

What has changed, is that Logan maps Remy’s body with a certain patience, an unhurriedness, that he’s surprised to have reflected back at him once Remy flips their positions, playing with his chest hair like it’s the best thing since sliced bread, Remy murmuring about how he likes various of his body parts, gracing them with kisses as he goes, until he eventually gets around to tell Logan just how  _ much _ he appreciates his dick, with words and hands and a more… mouth-on demonstration, too.

Logan claws into the sheets, overwhelmed in more ways than one, because he cannot… remember, ever having gotten something like this. At least not to this extent, nobody has taken the time to worship his body in quite this much detail. That the one to do it looks like an underwear model in need of a haircut makes the experience that much more surreal, and that much more… something, god, Logan doesn’t know, he can’t  _ think _ anymore. He comes embarrassingly quickly, but Remy just licks his lips, looking like the cat that got the proverbial cream, and much later, when they’re both sated and Remy’s long limbs splayed across Logan while Logan holds him and asks Remy to stay, the other agrees easily.

Logan gets woken by the soft press of lips at his cheeks, and when he blinks awake, the smiling face of one Remy LeBeau. Jesus Christ, he’s a morning person. “Time ‘s it?” Logan mumbles sleepily, and Remy’s smile widens.

“Trop mignon,” he whispers, his hand petting through Logan’s hair, and Logan squints at him.

“Don’t call me cute early in th’ morning, Cajun.”

“Shortly before six am,” Remy says, ignoring the protests, and Logan’s eyes widen.

“You’re  _ insane, _ eh?”

“I take lotsa naps during th’ day,” Remy explains, “an’ I wouldn’t have woken ya up, but…”

“No, I appreciate it,” Logan rumbles, and sits up. “This way I get to see you off properly. Wanna have breakfast?”

Remy’s smile gentles. “Damn, Logan,” he says, “the girl or guy who gets ya is one lucky bugger.” 

That is… confusing. There’s something in Remy’s tone that sounds almost… wistful? Which makes no sense at all. Logan blinks, wondering if sleep is still muddling his brain somewhat.

“Anyways, ain’t got th’ time,” the Cajun says, and straightens into a standing position, throwing a look at his watch, “I gotta get goin’. Work calls.”

“Hm.” Logan slips out of bed, unconscious of his nudity, enjoying the pause it gives Remy and the long, long look he gets from the other man who’s trailing his gaze up and down Logan’s body. It visibly takes some effort to tear his gaze away, and then Remy leans in for a quick kiss on the lips.

“See ya next week? Same café?”

“Can’t we meet up sooner?” Logan asks, already not enjoying the thought of spending another week waiting for Remy. Not that he’s, uh, sitting around waiting for him, or anything, of course.

“Désolé,” Remy apologizes, and his smile mollifies Logan a little, “but I can’t do that. You’re… distractin’. An’ if I don’t stay focused on my jobs, I’m gon’ lose them.”

Logan frowns, unsure if he really gets the problem here - Remy’s told him he’s working various side jobs, more because he has expensive taste rather than because he struggles to make ends meet, or so he says, at least.

“Right,” he allows at last, and when he pulls Remy, who’s fully clothed, against himself for deeper kiss, morning breath be damned, Remy goes easily. “See you next week.”

_ Should’ve asked him for a number, _ Logan thinks, as the room door falls shut behind Remy, and then suddenly jumps into action, casting about for his clothes. He hasn’t got a real plan of action until he’s out in the street, just in time to catch Remy’s coat swishing around a corner and out of sight, and then sets out to follow him.

Any normal person would call out, maybe offer to walk the other home, something like that. Logan has never been exactly  _ normal, _ and so what he sets out to do is to follow Remy at a distance that should keep him from getting noticed and trying not to think what his friends in Westchester would say if they could see him right now. (He can almost hear Jubilee calling him a ‘creepy stalker’ in his head.)

The house Remy enters is an immaculate, cream-colored townhouse with high windows. Expensive tastes sure wasn’t an exaggeration, and Logan turns away quickly, just committing the address to memory.

_ I’m an idiot, _ he thinks at himself, furiously. Because if that townhouse doesn’t lie straight in the middle of the areas he’s marked out as  _ possible abodes of Gambit, _ he’ll eat his own shoe. “Fuck,” he growls to himself, and the woman passing him gasps audibly, which he decides to ignore. He’s a  _ fucking _ idiot. A pretty face, a nice body, a talented tongue both for sweet-talking and… other things, and he decides to run with it, to ignore his instincts.

Chances are pretty damn high he’s been sleeping around with a main suspect.

That week, Logan punches a wall at the FBI headquarters during a meeting, breaking a finger.

On the bright side, every single of the Agents, even people he’s never even met before, give him a wider berth after that, as if suspecting that he’s turned into a wild animal with foam on the mouth and might bite them at any moment.

If he had been in a better mood, it would have made Logan smile.

 

* * *

  
  


“Kitty, this case drives me nuts.”

Even though she’s been joking around and smiling moments ago, Kitty recognizes the tone of voice as  _ serious _ immediately and switches over to business in a heartbeat. “Want to bounce it off of me?” she asks, and Logan has a moment of awe for how much she’s grown since she’s started out working with him, feeling a somewhat irrational sense of pride growing in him.

He’s so fucking proud of her.

“Yeah.”

“Shoot.”

“Let’s say you got a suspect, an’ it fits pretty well, but if it’s a puzzle piece, only three sides fit, and you can’t make the fourth corner fit in there at all. You approach the suspect, and things get even more muddled, ‘cause you didn’t approach them in an official capacity, and then you’re not sure whether you can trust your gut anymore, ‘cause it’s getting personal really fuckin’ quickly.”

“Damn,” Kitty replies, quietly, and frowns in thought. Logan is content to give her time to think through it, and she snaps her fingers when she’s finished the train of thought, signaling that Logan needs to pay attention again.

“First of all, the most important lesson you’ve ever taught is, is that you  _ always _ trust your gut. I trust you. You know what you’re doing. But you also know the rules about getting involved with suspects.”

Logan quirks his lips upwards. Ten out of ten, the perfect student, telling him exactly what he does not want to and probably needs to hear. He doesn’t comment, just nods.

“So the problem here is, it’s too much. You need to step back. Break it off as soon as possible, and focus on the official side. Probably best you have somebody else to bring them in for questioning, you don’t wanna get in trouble because you accidentally befriended a suspect.”

“Why  _ would _ I get in trouble for that?” Logan asks, somewhat amused.

“Hey, those crazy FBI people all but trussed you up and kidnapped you. Who knows what they’re capable of.”

Logan laughs, and Kitty grins at him from the screen, before sobering again. “Honestly, you know exactly where you stand here, Logan. I think you just needed me to confirm what you are already aware of.”

“Probably,” Logan admits, “and you did good, because you confirmed it all.”

“Always glad to help,” Kitty quibs back, winking, and then pauses before continuing. “Good luck, Logan. Sounds like Washington’s being tough on you. Give us a call if you need an extraction.”

“Thanks, Pryde. I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

* * *

 

Logan could’ve simply not gone to meet Remy again. All of his problems, solved in one go. Would’ve been nice, right? And so easy.

 

Which is probably the reason Logan absolutely cannot do that. He’s never really been one for the easy way out, and when he spots Remy in front of the café, smiling so widely Logan’s mildly worried he’ll dislocate his jaw, well.

Logan isn’t strong enough to not welcome the kiss on the sidewalk, is not strong enough to keep it from becoming deeper, only manages to stop and draw away when Remy  _ moans _ in his mouth and the effect on his dick, which is giving an interested twitch, is immediate.

 

This is not exactly looking like the definition of  _ breaking it off _ .

 

“We gotta talk,” Logan grumbles, and Remy blinks, his smile slowly waning. The pang of regret Logan feels at that is not  _ fair _ .

“Talk? You mean in the… serious way? ‘Cause if you use your tongue like you just did--”

Logan shakes his head, slightly embarrassed and slightly turned on and hating the mix (but probably not hating it as much as he  _ should _ ), turning away. “Let’s go inside.”

Remy follows him through the doors of the café quietly, and a silent nod from him is enough to let Logan know he’ll get both their orders, nodding back and walking to the back of the café to get a table tucked away in a corner, to give them a certain measure of privacy.

As he sits down, he spends a moment thinking of what the FBI thought of that little display on the street just now - well, he thinks, wryly, it makes Remy look exactly like what Raven implied a couple weeks ago, a boytoy Logan’s angled himself to abate the boredom in a strange city, as far removed from a possible suspect in the Gambit case as possible.

He’s in  _ so much _ trouble.

There’s no more time to dwell on it, however, as Remy chooses that moment to sit down opposite from him, sliding a cup of coffee in front of Logan, and if the first sniff is any indication, he got  _ exactly _ what Logan likes. It sure as fuck doesn’t make shit any  _ easier _ .

“I can’t keep meeting you like this,” Logan says, staring at his coffee.

“Woah,” says Remy, his cup paused halfway to his mouth, and the hurt is audible in his voice. Logan does not know how he does that, but he does know how it slices right through his chest, grimacing, then finally dragging his eyes up to look at Remy’s face.

Remy looks confused and disappointed, his hand still frozen, holding his cup in mid-air, staring at Logan, frowning lightly and blinking entirely too much. “You kiss me like that and then tell me you never wanna see me again?”

The accent has almost entirely disappeared and Logan barely resists the urge to shiver, wrap his arms around himself. It feels like the room’s temperature just dropped a couple degrees. “Remy…”

“That is what you’re telling me,” Remy interrupts, and something sharp is introduced in his tone then, the Cajun setting his cup down with deceptive gentleness, but he’s almost  _ glaring _ now. “Tell me why, at least.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” Logan snaps, irritated with Remy trying to give him something that sounded like an  _ order _ , but regretting his words immediately, seeing how Remy straightens in his seat, chin held high.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Do I really?” Logan asks, but there’s barely any force behind it, he feels… tired, and like Remy is reflecting disappointment that he feels himself.

“I gave you every chance to ditch me,” Remy says, his voice a little lower now, “it would have been the easiest thing to do and you know it. But you’re here, and I’m here, and the fact you’re sitting there, just to hurt my feelings? Means you owe me an explanation at the very least.”

“Hurt your feelings?”

“What, did you think sluts don’t have hearts?”

Logan draws his brows together. “No. Remy, I never called you--”

“I just did,” Remy interrupts again, flippantly, and sighs, raising his cup again to take a sip.

“Don’t make it right.”

“You don’t get to do that,” and Remy sounds angry now, the sort of angry you feel when you’re trying to mask the pain - someone else might have been fooled, or might not have looked for the layers, but Logan is a detective. He can almost smell the way he’s hurting the other with this, and cliché as it sounds, but that  _ hurts _ him, too. “You don’t get to-- to kick me to the curb and then be this-- good to me. I don’t want your pity.”

“It ain’t pity.”

Remy huffs, frustrated. “Tell me  _ why _ .”

The tension between them is a physical thing - Logan can see it in the stiffness of Remy’s shoulders, aware that he’s holding himself too stiffly as well. He shouldn’t say  _ shit _ , he knows. Shit, he’s not the sort of beginner that would make letting anything slip in this situation okay. But looking at Remy now… all those reasons, professional, rational as they are, don’t seem to matter nearly as much as the fact that he’s hurting the man in front of him.

“I think you’re involved in a case I’m working on,” Logan says, voice lower than an actual whisper, his lips barely moving as he talks, but Remy, if the way his eyes widen, caught it anyways. Shock. It’s a better look than what he’s been wearing before.

“You think I’m--”

“So I can’t get involved any further with you,” Logan interrupts immediately, frowning darkly, “and for fuck’s sake, don’t ask me questions I can’t answer. I shouldn’t have told you as much as I already did.”

They sit in silence, after that. A couple times, Logan thinks Remy will break it, will say something, but he doesn’t, just sips at his coffee, his gaze mostly on Logan, and this is probably it. Remy will walk away, then Logan will tip off the FBI to question him, and from then on he’ll be cleared or arrested depending on whether he actually is Gambit or not, and-- Remy’s foot bumps against Logan’s calf, the other obviously having ditched a shoe under the table, and it is Logan’s turn to look shocked.

“Remy--”

“Forget the case,” Remy whispers, eyes flashing with an unnamed emotion, and Logan catches himself thinking he might start to cry soon, which is kind of absurd, seeing as Remy’s foot trails higher and higher, reaching his inner thigh.

He should  _ not _ get excited about this, but,  _ fuck, he can’t help himself. _ How is Remy so addictive?

“I don’t care,” Remy continues, “if y’gotta… investigate me, or question me. It’s fine, you can do all that.”

“That is the shittiest--” Logan begins, and then Remy’s foot is brushing against his dick, under a table in some random café, and Logan has to bite his tongue hard to suppress a groan.

“You can do all that. But Logan, I  _ need _ you. This can’t be goodbye, I won’t let it.” Remy looks extremely determined and composed, especially considering that he is, at the same time as he’s making a compassionate plea, giving Logan a foot job that should be criminal, it’s so damn good.

 

Logan’s gaze snaps up to Remy’s face, and he growls, deep in his chest, sounding vaguely like an animal. Remy shudders in response.

They fuck in the bathroom.

 

It’s frantic, it’s messy, and it’s the bathroom of a café because they couldn’t make it to the hotel in time, but they get there later, and it’s a continuation of what Remy’s started - Logan’s made no real decision, no real promise, he can hardly  _ think _ through the fog of lust and sex and need and  _ Remy is so beautiful _ . He’ll wake up tomorrow and be in the exact same shitty place he’s been in yesterday, because he cannot say no to Remy, doesn’t even really  _ want _ to, and that’s probably the problem, right there.

There is an edge of desperation to their coupling, as if they’d expect the world to end tomorrow, as if this was some weird, twisted way of saying goodbye, which, Logan probably will never be able to say goodbye, not to this man.

He’s never needed anyone with this physical intensity. Remy seems to fit him perfectly in ways that are wholly unexpected and almost scary to consider. If he’d believe in soulmates--

But Remy bites at his neck, then, chasing away any and all stray thoughts Logan might have been having, and Logan rolls them over, Remy saying “ _ fuck me, fuck me _ ” as if that hadn’t already happened two times before.

 

It’s the best goddamn sex Logan’s ever had.

 

When Logan’s phone rings, they’re sticky and sweaty and Remy obviously could not give less of a shit about it, sprawled across Logan and doing a good show out of making it look like the most comfortable place on earth - until Logan moves to get the phone, and Remy groans, pulling a face.

“ _ Mon dieu _ . I am  _ so  _ sore,” he whines, and Logan sends him a gaze that is half concerned, half guilty.

“Sorry, Remy,” he says, petting the Cajun’s side, still angling for his phone with his other hand, “should I lotion you up or--”

“No, no,” Remy replies, grinning up at the other, “This is good. I wanna feel  _ this _ fer a while.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Logan informs the other, intending to take the fact he thinks that’s really hot to his grave, and finally manages to grasp the phone, looking at the screen. “Ah, great,” he mumbles, unenthusiastic, and sends Remy a quick glance, “work.”

Remy nods, and closes his eyes, apparently deciding to continuing dozing on Logan’s chest. Logan has little choice but to accept the call from where he is.

“This is not a good moment to talk,” he informs the other the second he accepts the call.

“Then shut up,” comes Lensherr’s voice from the other end, as ever a pure delight to Logan’s ears, “and get moving. Gambit hit another target a couple hours ago.”

_ That’s not possible, _ Logan thinks, blinking at Remy, sleepy and mussed and carrying a thousand pieces of evidence that he’s been tied up, so to speak, in a busy night of physical activity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I've been kept busy by work and once I get to writing I have my attention split between multiple writing projects, which definitely does not help, SO this has been uploaded hurriedly and I did not proofread anything. If you catch a mistake, let me know.
> 
> In the meantime, thank you all for the kudos and the comments, they're much appreciated and important to me :)


	4. So Right It's Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's just right. Sometimes it's just wrong.
> 
> What if it's a little of both?

The crime scene is perfect, and it pisses Logan off.

That’s probably what he gets for getting in his head that he’ll turn up, throw one look at the thing, and dismiss it as ‘not Gambit’. Everything about it  _ screams _ Gambit - in the subtle, silent way, that perfect crime scenes can be screaming, at least. As typical of Gambit, everything has been wiped down thoroughly, and probably with the thief wearing gloves during the entire thing. There’s a card, the Queen of Spades, from the same French deck as the other ones, as the only hint left on scene. The thief, obviously knowing what they were doing, went straight for the most expensive diamonds, and ignored all the rest. The surveillance has apparently been hacked and is just rewinding footage from the day prior, which has the security chief blushing in anger whenever someone mentions it. Logan would sympathise with the man’s plight (he’s not the first, nor the last, to be duped by… Gambit… shit, now  _ he’s _ thinking of it as a Gambit heist as well, he’s gonna lose his mind). A small purse would’ve been enough to carry the stolen diamonds out of the building, which is just way too conveniently inconspicuous, and the value of what’s been stolen has more digits than you can count on one hand.

Oh, and also not helping Logan’s mood? The FBI Agent on scene is Raven. He honestly likes her better than Lensherr, in the way that you prefer one out of two really tiring brats.

She’s still a really tiring brat, in the end.

“Are you even here for the crime scene, or just to shadow me?” he snaps at her at some point, and her response is to smile at him in a way that has Logan immediately regretting everything, and feeling vaguely like he just… lost. Not that he’s the kinda guy to make a competition out of everything, of course, but. Well.

“Aw, Howlett, what crawled up your ass? You’ve been even more of a pain than when you arrived here, you know.”

“This,” Logan says, curtly, indicating the crime scene with an abrupt gesture. Raven’s brows raise on her forehead, and her smile becomes a little derisive. Honestly, Logan didn’t even think it was possible to don such a look and still somehow… ooze attractiveness. Something about her was aggravating in a way that made you want to shove your tongue down her throat just to shut her up.

“I understand if you didn’t get the memo in police school, but crime is our job, Detective,” she said, and somehow managed to make  _ detective _ sound like an insult, “we’ll catch the big, bad, thieving people.”

Logan feels his eye twitch and exhales deeply, deciding to ignore that. “The timing is too convenient,” he mutters, more to himself than to Raven.

“Are you seriously upset Gambit is still playing you for a fool?” the agent asks, idly, her tone more teasing than outright condescending, and yet Logan whirls on her with an intensity that suggests she just insulted his honor.

“I am not being played for a fool,” he barks at her, and realises quickly that literally everyone in the room seems to have stopped what they were doing to stare at them. Shit. He may just have raised his voice at  _ Raven _ . The agent just blinks at him, slowly, and Logan has to suppress a brief shudder of pure terror, because it doesn’t make sense to be afraid of the woman who’s done nothing but flirt with and annoy him, and yet…

“Hm,” she hums, her expression unreadable, which is unnerving in more ways than Logan has thought possible. It becomes suddenly clear to him that when she’s smiling at him, mocking him, she’s just  _ playing _ , and as annoying as he might find it, he’s quickly figuring out that it is by far preferable to her becoming serious. “No, you are,” she assures him, no hint of a joke in her voice, her eyes hard, “and if you can’t deal with that? Go home if that’s how you’re going to be,  _ James. _ This is no place for boys and their ego trips. I feel it’s ridiculous anyways, getting a detective to come to us? Because the criminal has  _ asked _ for it? Please. You’re cute, but you’re not  _ that _ cute.”

Damn. Logan feels chastised in a way he doesn’t very often these days, bringing up a hand to awkwardly rub at his neck and exhaling heavily. “Right. Sorry.”

If anything, Raven’s eyebrows wing up even higher, her face showing her surprise. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Wait. Wait, say that again, I need to have proof of this.” Logan blinks at her as she shoves her phone in his face, recording him.

“Hm, no. Fuck off.”

“You little bitch,” Raven sighs, but she seems greatly mollified all the same.

 

Logan is way too tense in the conference room afterwards, when the team comes together to briefly go over this latest heist - the whole team gives him looks that range from irritated (Lensherr) to curious (Raven) to concerned (Jeanne-Marie), and it doesn’t help his mood. Still, there’s not a hell of a lot Logan can do about it. He’s always been transparent, easy to read, in his moods.

“...and an eyewitness reports having seen Gambit tapdance in a hula skirt on a rooftop last night.”

“Huh?” Logan glances up, and meets Lensherr’s irritated glare.

“Welcome back to the meeting, Howlett,” he bites out, and, seriously, the dude could give Logan a run for his money in the  _ perpetually pissed off _ department, “you really consider none of us have anything interesting to say?”

Logan raises his brows, and decides to ignore everything Erik’s just said. “I have something I wanna share with you,” he says instead, leaning forward, not paying Raven any mind, who’s triumphantly murmured “see, he didn’t even tell  _ Erik _ sorry” to a confused-looking Claremont.

“Something to share?” Jeanne-Marie asks, and the whole team is now giving Logan their undivided attention. Briefly, Logan quirks his lips at Jeanne-Marie, grateful that she doesn’t make clear that she probably knows that this is about a suspect he didn’t share with the class, and then exhales in a long sigh.

“Yeah. I should’ve told ya earlier, but I thought… anyways, I have a suspect in view.” The room seems to hold its breath as Logan’s expression darkens considerably. “It all fit… up until today.”

“The heist?” Erik suggests, sounding thoughtful, and Logan nods.

“‘The timing is too convenient’,” Raven says, quoting Logan’s earlier words back at him. When she gets a few confused looks, she leans forward as well, professional in a way Logan hasn’t seen her be before. “Howlett said that, on the crime scene. He seemed very upset with it all. Which I gather means that this suspect of yours has an alibi for the time of the crime.”

“Correct,” Logan agrees.

“That must be one heck of an alibi,” comes the interjection from Claremont, and Logan glares at the table as if wanting to burn a hole into it through the power of thought alone.

“You could say that. I’m the alibi.”

“Wait a minute,” says Jeanne-Marie, “are you saying…”

She’s interrupted by Raven laughing and slapping her hand on the table, wiping at her eye. “Oh, my god. That is brilliant. He is too  _ professional _ or some shit to sleep with me, but he’ll sleep with the suspect of his case!”

“Is she right?” asks Erik, who seems to catch himself first, and Logan glares at the still chuckling Raven.

“I didn’t peg him as a suspect the first time--”

“The  _ first  _ time?!” Raven interrupts again, and seems to have trouble breathing through her laughter.

“Raven, please,” Erik grinds out, and the grinning Agent mimes zipping her lips shut, although she does not bother trying to contain her grin in the slightest. From the look of pure, evil joy on her face, this must feel like Christmas and Easter just fell on the same day to her.  


“Didn’t see that one coming,” Claremont mumbles, more to himself than anything. Jeanne-Marie is grimacing in a way that indicates  _ pity _ and Logan cannot look at her, preferring to look at Lensherr, who, as usual, just looks pissed off.

“Howlett, you should know better.”

“Yeah.”

“If I had the power to fire you, I would.”

“Completely understand.”

Erik exhales, the fact that Logan is not clapping back to the beginnings of his tirade seemingly knocking the wind out of his sails, but that doesn’t mean he starts to look any less pissy at all.

“Right, you fucked up big time, but since we all agree the crime scene only could have been Gambit, you should forget about your… friend as a suspect. We’re gonna let it slide, since your loverboy got cleared. Meanwhile, Howlett, focus on the case, and try and be happy this one went good for you, because it could have very easily gone a very different way.”

Logan opens his mouth to protest, then snaps it shut again. He probably  _ should _ be happy about this. It’s just that he really isn’t. Something is… wrong, in accepting this new, improved outcome. Too easy.  _ Too good. _

 

It’s Jeanne-Marie who comes back into the room, a couple minutes (Logan guesses) after the meeting has ended - he’s still sitting there, brooding, even if he himself would never admit to those exact terms.    
“Thought I’d still catch you here,” she says, not unkindly. Logan grunts vaguely in response. The agent doesn’t let his attitude bother her, and plants herself on the table, in a way that has Logan look up at her with a raised eyebrow - sitting on tables brings Jubilee to mind, and the behaviour is unexpected here. Beaubier clearly doesn’t really care about that, seeing as they’re alone in the room, just giving him a cheeky grin.

“You should be out in the streets doing celebratory somersaults, you know.”

Logan snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, unlikely.”

“This meeting is obviously weighing on your mind,” Jeanne-Marie observes casually, “want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Hm, thought so. But I can guess at part of the problem at least, and it’s a part I think I can help you out with. At least a little bit.”

Logan looks up at her, raising an eyebrow that radiates his scepticism. “That so,” he says.

“It puts you pretty much back at the start of the investigation, with no serious leads,” Jeanne-Marie replies, raising her eyebrows in return, “that much is pretty obvious. No need to be an oracle or some kind of mind reader to know that much, I don’t think.”

Despite himself, Logan feels his lips quirking slightly upwards at the corners. He appreciates her sense of humour, appreciates how it’s actually working in lifting his spirits even if it’s just a little bit. “And you can help with that?”

“While the security cameras from the day of the crime have been wiped, we have lots of footage of previous weeks. We can assume that the thief came by to case the surroundings… a job pulled off this well requires serious preparation, as you know.” Logan nods, agreeing with her, and exhales in a sigh. Jeanne-Marie gives him a slight smile in reaction. “So, yes, of course, this is grunt work, and it might not lead to anything… but at least it gives you something to do other than sit around and stew in your self pity.”

“Hey, now,” Logan protests, not putting any real heat into his words, and then pauses. After a moment, he nods. “Thanks, Beaubier.”

“You’re welcome, Howlett. And if you need anything else, call us, as per usual.”

 

Chances are they both know he won’t, but it’s nice of her to offer. Either that or pointlessly stubborn. Maybe both.

 

Logan doesn’t ask whether he’s allowed to take the tapes out of the building, because if anybody expects him to cram himself into the depressing little broom closet they called his office around here to watch hundreds of hours of inconsequential footage, well, they are  _ wrong _ . He sets himself up in his apartment, sets up the tapes in chronological order next to his computer, and stares at them glumly. Hours upon hours of surveillance tape. Stuff one should only watch while being heavily sedated or high (for a brief, wild second, he plays with the thought of scaring a street kid into handing over their weed to him, but dismisses that immediately, because what the  _ fuck, _ no, that is not-- his colleagues back in Westchester would kick his ass for even thinking it). Either way, Logan’s not really in a hurry to start watching hundreds of hours of less-than-entertaining footage (he’s never been one to people-watch just for the hell of it), and so turns away from the tapes and the computer, in search of something else to do. The result is a very productive day of household chores - Logan hoovers, does his laundry, dusts off shelves and gets the trash out. Finally, he’s pausing to stop by the fridge that includes nothing except the ever-essential six pack of beer and half a lemon for a beer that he feels he’s deserved by now, even though he’s only done work to avoid  _ other _ work, leaning back at the kitchen counter. Maybe he should shop for groceries, eating out is starting to weigh on his budget - the thought throws Logan for a bout of nostalgia, because back  _ home _ , the department organises potluck dinners weekly and it’s always a great success, even if Logan doesn’t like admitting just how rewarding it is that everybody loves his muffins. Muffins. He could bake something… even though he’s not sure how good of a plan that is, what with how there’s nobody really around to share it with (he’ll be damned before he walks into the FBI headquarters with homemade cookies).

Just another reminder he’s out of his element, and missing his friends. Still… baking is a great way to not having to think about any of the case right now, and decision made, Logan grabs his keys and a coat, and opens the door to come face-to-face with the now all too familiar Remy LeBeau, who looks just as startled by this development as Logan feels.

“Remy?”

The Cajun catches himself quickly, giving Logan one of his disarming smiles, although the way he’s shifting his weight from one side to the other in a small shuffle gives away a certain nervousness. “Logan! Hi.”

“Hey… how the fuck did you know where I live?”

“Oh, you told me about it,” Remy replies, speaking with absolute confidence, “don’t you remember?”

“No,” Logan says, slowly, frowning at the other, but Remy doesn’t seem disturbed by the reaction he’s getting.

“Well, I do, or I wouldn’t be here, would I?” he doesn’t wait for Logan to reply but instead moves to walk in, Logan stepping aside on auto pilot. It’s only when Remy is already in the middle of the room that he remembers the other shouldn’t  _ be _ in here.

Logan swears, but Remy’s already looking at the desk, where the tapes (clearly labelled) are neatly sitting next to the laptop, and the Cajun’s gaze has already found them. “Oh,” he says, “am I interruptin’ your work?”

_ Yes, _ Logan thinks, he should definitely say yes, but when he opens his mouth what actually comes out is “I was ‘bout to leave, so not really.”

Remy looks back at him, and Logan feels his heart twist with how  _ unsure _ the usually rather cocky Cajun looks. “Good… I wasn’t sure about my welcome here. Since you…”

Suddenly, Logan feels glad about the thoughtless way he’s let Remy in. “It’s fine,” he grumbles, “ya wouldn’t be in here if ya weren’t welcome. Turns out, you’re cleared.”

Remy’s eyes widen a little. “What does that mean?”

“I’m lookin’ for someone that’s not you, is what it means,” says Logan, raising his brows, “beyond that, Remy, I still ain’t supposed to talk ‘bout my work.”

“Lookin’ for someone that ain’t me,” Remy repeats, and raises his brows. “Almost sounds like I gotta be jealous.”

Logan chuckles, relieved that Remy’s found his playfulness again, shaking his head. “Strongly doubt that.”

“Really?” Remy asks, a small smile playing around his lips now. “Nobody I should be even a lil’ jealous of?” He steps closer, and Logan’s mind goes below the belt immediately. There must be something there - maybe it’s Remy’s expression, or the way he took those three steps towards Logan, something that’s reminiscent of the (by now) many times he’s seduced Logan before.

“Not unless ya wanna be jealous of someone I’d been ditched by,” Logan says, and Remy is standing close enough to touch now.

“No! Is that why you’re currently single?”

“Kinda,” Logan replies, Remy’s fingers coming up to play with his beard. “Ditched is prob’bly not the right word, either. I was jus’ hung up on her, but there’s always been another guy…”

“Lucky for me,” Remy mumbles, and Logan feels himself flush.

“Bullshit. No way in hell  _ you’re _ the lucky one in this scenario,” he protests, and Remy laughs a small laugh. Logan feels himself calming, looking at Remy’s face. Maybe shit doesn’t need to be all that complicated, for once. “Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty special?”

“Lots of times,” comes the easy reply, Remy’s lips quirking upwards, “but it’s not usually meant as a compliment.”

“Well, I  _ do _ mean it as a compliment.”

“Logan…” And how could Logan resist that invitation? He leans in, kissing his name right off of the other’s lips. Remy’s breath hitches. “Logan, y’barely know me. I’m much more of a mess than y’know…”

“I know what kinda lover you are,” says Logan to that, seeing Remy blush and surprised about it - the Cajun seems so unflappable, but it  _ also _ seems that every single time Logan thinks he’s got him a little bit figured out, Remy turns the tables on him again with ease, “and I know you keep comin’ back like maybe you’re desperate to be loved.”

The reaction is immediate, impossible to miss. Remy freezes - and then steps back from Logan, eyes wide, reminding the detective of a deer in headlights. He’d laugh, if it wasn’t so obvious he’s dealing with a young man that’s had too much shit thrown at him, has been played and gotten his heart broken in too painful ways, to make him react like  _ this _ .

“It’s not a bad thing,” Logan adds, voice soft and gaze trained on Remy, “especially ‘cause I’m pretty sure I can give you that.”

“We’ve just had sex,” Remy protests, and there’s something choked up in his voice.

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, and it  _ kills him _ to just stand there and have this conversation with so much air, so much space between them, but who knows if his touch would be welcome right now, he needs for Remy to see this for himself, “and it can continue bein’  _ just _ sex, too. But that doesn’t mean it won’t become something else at some point down the line. If ya still want it by then.”

Remy exhales noisily, turning his head, seemingly staring at the surveillance tapes unseeingly. He seems distraught, and that look on the other’s face shakes Logan from his stillness, makes him take a step towards the other. “Remy…”

“I gotta go,” the Cajun interrupts, nodding to himself, “you-- you said you were going out anyways, right? Well. I’ll see you later, then.”

The hand Logan’s had outstretched towards the other falls at his side again, useless. There he goes, he’s spooked him. “When?” he asks, pretty sure it’s not a smart idea to put pressure on Remy under these specific circumstances, but unable to help himself at the same time. He’s hoped… he’s hoped for a different outcome for this conversation.

Remy meets his eyes, smiles a weak little smile. “Not long. I promise. I just… gotta go right now.”

Logan nods mutely, not trusting his voice, and regretting it as soon as the door clicks closed behind him. Now Remy’s gone - for  _ now, _ whatever that means - and Logan didn’t say anything to stop him. He could’ve at least tried, damnit. Should have, maybe.

A deep exhale, and Logan shakes his head, makes sure he has his keys, and locks the door behind him as he leaves, thinking of buying fresh tomatoes and making pasta, and maybe offer Remy homemade baked goods. If he’ll ever see Remy again, that is - but Logan frowns at the thought, moody as it is (he ain’t a goddamn teenager anymore), and shakes it off again. Time to focus on something safe. Like groceries.

It doesn’t take a good detective to notice something is off when you return to your previously locked door - and find it unlocked. Logan sets his groceries down at the door, quietly, draws a firearm he shouldn’t have had on him in the first place, but also fuck that, and systematically checks all rooms for any presence, gun first.

Nobody is here, and his gut tells Logan, as he looks at the desk where the surveillance tapes have just been, that nothing of value has been taken. Just the tapes, and as he approaches the desk, there’s a sticky note where the tapes were beforehand, with a number hurriedly scrawled on it.

_ Remy, _ Logan thinks, and grits his teeth.

This isn’t quite how he hoped he’d get the other’s number.

 

The phone is picked up at the second ring.

“Hello,” comes the voice through the speaker, and Logan exhales. Even though there is not even the smallest hint of a Cajun accent, there is no doubt in his mind whom he’s speaking to.

“This is a burner phone,” he says, more statement than question, not bothering to return the greeting, and Remy chuckles softly.

“Yeah.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“The phone or your tapes?”

Logan grinds his teeth, and Remy sighs, continuing without waiting for a reply.

“Let’s call the phone a habit. And the tapes… I needed all of your attention.”

“That’s a dumb fucking way to get my attention,” Logan rasps, voice a little rough. There is a small pause, in which neither of them says anything, and then Remy’s voice comes through softly, quietly this time.

“Meet me. The usual time and place, tomorrow.”

“What…” Logan begins, but Remy’s already hung up on him.

Logan stays standing in the middle of the flat for a few long moments, phone still at his ear, the words he didn’t get to say - questions he didn’t get to ask - weighing on him like a physical force, feeling a tightness in his chest and the tell-tale prickle of the eyes that means if he’d let himself, he would cry right now.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, and exhales just as deeply, lowering the phone slowly to dial another number this time, before he can think about it too hard, or change his mind.

“What is it  _ this _ time,” says Erik down the line, as if Logan was calling him on the regular just to annoy him. Absurdly, it helps; Logan rolls his eyes, and focuses on the annoyance he feels with the other man. It’s… safer.

“I’m meeting with Gambit tomorrow.”

For a breath, a heartbeat, there’s absolute silence. Then--

“WHAT?!”

Logan winces, pulling the phone away from his ear. His groceries abandoned and forgotten in the hallway, he puts his phone down, walks over to the fridge, cracks open a beer, and then grabs his phone again on the way over to the couch, where he sinks down heavily, and carefully brings the phone up to his ear again as he takes a sip of his beer.

Erik is obviously still upset, but Logan timed it right to catch the end of his rant.

“--and most important of all, how the fuck did this happen?”

“Such foul language,” Logan muses, faintly amused despite himself. Lensherr is a grumpy arse, but he doesn’t seem the type to lose his composure like this. Also for that reason, he preempts Lensherr’s answering temper to his sass, and doesn’t give him time to reply, voice slipping back into professional mode. “Listen, you know why I called. Get the team together, we gotta prep this.”

“Are you  _ positive _ this is--”

“Worst comes to worst, I’ll have wasted your time,” Logan interrupts, unfazed, “but I’m the best there is at what I do. This is  _ it, _ and if you want to have any part in it, I need ya to get on board yesterday, eh?”

A deep exhale. “Fine. I’m calling an emergency meeting right now. Get your ass over here.”

“Ugh,” Logan mumbles, pouting at the beer in his hand, but Lensherr’s already hung up on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me longer than it should have to update. Whoops! Anyways, I have the ending in my head, I just gotta figure out how to wrangle the plot in place to get there in a way that makes sense. It's a little like trying to wrestle a Basilisk into the perfect s-shape: impossible.  
> I love writing. I also hate it a little. Such things keep life interesting, I suppose.
> 
> Regardless! Let me know how you feel, what you think, etc. As ever, feedback and kudos is loved and appreciated!


	5. With Hands Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy clears some things up, but he wouldn't be Remy if he didn't do it with a frankly unnecessary amount of drama involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whew, it took me almost a month to update! Wow. Thanks to everyone having left feedback, it did give me an extra boost to (finally) post an update. I might be able to bring the show to a close with one more chapter, but we will have to see. Stay tuned, and keep letting me know how you feel when reading this!
> 
> Honestly it brings me so much joy to read about you guys being confused right along with Logan (Logan is always confused by Remy, but in this universe especially so), being sad with the boys, being worried for them or just being happy reading this. Inspiring emotions is the most amazing thing to me as a writer!
> 
> BUT ENOUGH RAMBLING. I HAVE PLOTTING TO DO. Enjoy reading, and I'll catch you folks later!

“I still can’t believe…” Claremont mumbles, while Beaubier uses her quick fingers to attach the bug to the inside of Logan’s dress shirt (of course he had to dress up for this, and he’s both begrudgingly glad and a little put out about it in equal measures).

“Shut up,” Raven chucks in, cheerful, giving Claremont, who’s actually doing his job and adjusting the audio equipment whereas Raven just lounges around, long legs stretched out in front of her, a small jab in the arm with her elbow, smiling widely, “this is the  _ best _ . Continuation of the forbidden love drama,  _ and _ we get to listen in on it. Honestly, this is better than my telenovelas.”

“You watch telenovelas?” Jeanne-Marie asks, her own lips twitching upwards in amusement, and sits back, nodding at Logan, who makes to button his shirt up again.

“Por supuesto,” Raven replies, leering a little at Logan, who just rolls his eyes at her, and Raven sighs, leaning back. “Desagradecido.”

“Is all your Spanish from telenovelas?” Jeanne-Marie asks again, looking at Raven now, “because that would explain… some things.”

“Yelling is always better when done in Spanish,” explains Raven, and Logan snorts. It should be uncomfortable, sitting in a cramped surveillance van with the agents, but somehow, the easygoing banter that Darkholme especially keeps going is putting him at ease instead.

 

* * *

 

It’s been an experience, trying to explain what was going on to the team. Especially Erik seemed tempted to start tearing his hair out when Logan explained that he was back to his primary subject because he stole evidence (which, no, Logan was not technically allowed to carry out of the headquarters, he learned) and Logan had a  _ feeling _ about it.

Raven has been backing him up all the way, although she’s let Logan know that that’s more because she smells  _ personal drama _ brewing and she’s willing to spend a couple hours in the surveillance van if that means she can listen in to half an hour of Logan yelling at his criminal lover.

Logan’s grateful for the support, of course, she was a big help in getting Lensherr on board, but  _ jesus. _ He kinda wishes he hadn’t told them about the, uh, special circumstances surrounding Remy and himself.

“Sorry, I’m still confused,” Claremont had said, “didn’t he have an alibi?”

“ _ Thank you. _ ” answered Erik, at the same time as Raven said “a rock-solid one,” winking exaggeratedly at Logan.

“Yeah,” Logan said, “I’m gonna ask him about that.”

“And he’s just gonna tell you, like that?” Logan couldn’t reasonably begrudge Erik the sceptimism. This case had become more than a little muddy with emotions and personal involvement, and now here he was, waltzing into the FBI headquarters, wanting to throw his lover under the bus. Honestly, if he was in Lensherr’s shoes, he’d probably have trouble taking this seriously.

“I think he will,” he says finally, giving a little shrug, “there was no reason for him to do this if he didn’t plan on… dropping some bombshells on me.”

“Why do you think he did this?” Jeanne-Marie interjected, and Logan nodded at her.

“Excellent question. ‘Course, I can’t be sure, but I think… maybe he finally wants to come clean.”

“That’s the best case scenario,” Erik interjects, rubbing his temples.

“Yeah. Call me an optimist.”

Raven laughed at that, and then leaned forward on the table. “We should just go for it. At the very least… it should be interesting.”

“It’s not our task to spy on the love lives of our colleagues,” is what Erik grit out, visibly uncomfortable. Raven waved him off, but it was Logan who answered first.

“Thanks for wantin’ to respect my privacy, but this is me, sayin’  _ my _ love life is related to this case somehow, so you don’t gotta be stubborn about it, eh?”

“Give it to me,” Raven pressed on, not waiting to give Erik time to reply to Logan, “I’ll spearhead the surveillance op. Claremont should tag along for tech, and Beaubier to keep us focussed, you don’t have to be involved directly. We’ll keep you updated via a separate feed.”

“If you’re that thirsty for it,” Erik replied, clearly relenting, but fixing Logan with a hard stare, “are you  _ sure _ , Detective?”

“Yeah,” Logan nodded, strangely touched by the concern shown for his private life. He couldn’t have said what had motivated Lensherr to feel that strongly about it - if he had to guess, he’d say his own experiences with Chuck probably had everything to do with it - and it was not really helpful, not  _ really _ , but… for a moment, it felt like Erik cared.

A little surreal, if he’s being honest. But at least Logan can definitely respect a man with principles.

“Fine. Darkholme, take the mission, I’ll be plugged in to the feed but I only wanna hear from you when something… relevant to the case happens.”

“Got it,” Raven said, and Logan could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt to contain the unholy grin she no doubt wanted to grin at him.

 

* * *

 

 

And this is how he finds himself in the surveillance van, Jeanne-Marie offering him an earpiece, which Logan denies with a shake of his head. If he doesn't _have_ to listen to the team yabber into his ear, he prefers that a lot. Jeanne-Marie pauses, then shrugs, putting the earpiece back.

They had parked the van hours before the meeting, in the side street next to the café, and Raven’s gotten takeout for the team (Logan included), eating lunch in the cramped space before starting to set up the equipment. Again, if this was FBI protocol to put people at ease, it worked perfectly.

Logan watches Raven and Jeanne-Marie joke around, feeling like he only now sees the agents operating as a team, and it reminds him with a pang of  _ his _ team back in Westchester. He exhales deeply. If this is what he thinks it is, if Remy is Gambit  _ and _ done running, he’ll be back with his people very, very soon. That is the one thing to look forward to here, and he’s gotta remind himself of it. It’s more important than Remy playing him completely, than how their budding relationship is going to be stomped into dust if he’s right about this.

Yeah, right. Who’s he trying to convince here?

“Almost time,” Jeanne-Marie says, pulling him out of that train of thought. Logan is grateful for it, focuses on the agents instead. “Claremont?” The agent just nods, Beaubier nodding back at him, then looking at Logan. “You ready, Logan?”

He almost smiles. “Always.”

At least he’s gotten good at the small lies.

 

The fact that it should be avoided that anyone, or even, god forgive, Remy catches him walking out of a side street that leads to a dead end and a suspicious-looking van (it doesn’t matter how hard they try to make it  _ not conspicuous _ , being recogniseable as such just seems to be a thing with surveillance vans, at least to Logan himself, but then, of course, he might just have gotten slightly too paranoid with the years) doesn’t even need to be talked about. Some last audio tests, then the Detective finds himself practically thrown out of the vehicle, and sure it was cramped and smelling way too strongly of Chinese food, but he still feels like walking to the café is  _ much worse _ .

Regardless, he’s ridiculously early, so he fishes a cigar out of his pocket as he’s walking past the café, intending to lean against the wall next to the door, and pauses, blinking at the trenchcoat hanging over a chair in the back of the café which he just so happened to spot through the window. This sort of  _ coincidence _ never is a coincidence, not when every single instinct tells Logan  _ Remy, _ and so he grumbles, pocketing the cigar again with some difficulty, and walks into the café instead.

Remy sits at the back, in the shadow, hidden from sight from the street, but having put his coat over the seat across from him like some sort of strange beacon. Seeing him almost gives Logan pause - Remy seems to have dressed up, if the obviously well-tailored suit is any indication. His hair, which usually flops all over the place and hangs well into the Cajun’s eyes, has been gelled back. It makes him look rich and successful from a distance, but Logan… Logan mostly has to bite his tongue in the monumental effort it takes to banish the thought that he’d love to mess that picture up. When he stops at the table, he can’t help but find great irony in the fact that while he’s wearing a dress shirt himself, Remy still manages to make him look underdressed, although if the overly suggestive once-over Remy gives him is any indication, the Cajun disagrees. “Lookin’ good,” he comments, quirking his lips into a careless grin, and immediately Logan feels somewhat less tense, huffing and sitting down heavily, the trenchcoat at his back.

“Don’t, bub. This ain’t funny.”

Remy raises his brows, pursing his lips at Logan. “Bub?” he parrots, “ _ please _ , Detective. Ya know very well how to shut this  _ bub _ up if ya want ‘im to be quiet.”

“Remy,” Logan says, a growl in his voice as a warning, and Remy’s expression shifts back into a grin. Frustratingly, Logan finds him hard to read, which seems silly, with how open the other’s face seems, but something about it is… distanced, practiced, almost. Or maybe Logan’s just reading too much into it.

“That’s better,” Remy praises him, and leans back, seemingly content.

“Why the fuck did you steal surveillance tapes?”

“Y’forgot to order your coffee,  _ homme. _ ” None of Remy’s body language shifts at all. It is the same languid casualness as before. No average joe would be that calm having a policeman throw a criminal accusation in their face. Logan works his hands into fists on the table before he notices, and forces himself to relax again quickly, Remy watching the small, telltale movements.

“Answer the question.”

“Hm,” and just like that, the accent is gone, “really, if we think about it, there’s only a few possibilities. Maybe there’s something on the tapes I didn’t want anyone to see. Maybe I tampered with the tapes, or want you to  _ think _ I did, either to hide something or just hinder the investigation. Or maybe I just wanted your full attention.”

“I’m not sittin’ here to hear you talk ‘bout  _ possibilities, _ ” Logan says, narrowing his eyes, “you owe me answers.”

Briefly, Remy closes his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. “Oh, I imagine I owe you more than that. Like those,” he makes a vague hand gesture to the side, where a sport bag sits on the seat next to Remy, opened to show tapes. For a couple seconds, Logan stares, uncomprehending - how did he not notice that before (too focused on Remy), and maybe more importantly…

“Are those…?”

“The real deal. So freshly stolen, still a little warm.”

“Why the fu--”

“I did want your full attention,” Remy interrupts, his gaze intense and face suddenly serious. Logan feels, stupidly, almost uncomfortable under the scrutiny, huffing to cover up his nerves.

“That’s a  _ dumb _ fuckin’ way to get my attention.”

Remy, infuriatingly, just  _ shrugs. _ Just a dumb little shrug, as if it didn’t matter to him that he was riding the highway to a life sentence of prison, and that shouldn’t piss Logan off so much, it should be the best thing ever, but…  _ but. _ Fucking hell. Logan itches to have something in his hand he could throw at the other, a brownie, a pen, he ain’t goddamn  _ picky, _ but this  _ stupid man _ is too much for him right now.

“ _ Gambit _ ain’t supposed to be that fuckin’  _ idiotic. _ ”

When Remy looks up, it is with a sense of calm, his voice low. “Not many call me by that name.”

“And you don’t deny it?”

“That I’m an idiot when it comes to you?” Remy smiles widely, now. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I  _ am. _ ”

Yeah. He definitely needs things thrown at him. Logan mentally updates the list of Things To Throw At Remy to include rotting tomatoes.

“You are,” he begins, and pauses, no idea of how to possibly finish that sentence, watching Remy’s smile transform into something… almost sad, although he’s still smiling.

“Unbelievable?” Remy suggests, “too much? Good-for-nothing? A dirty criminal? A slut? You’ve already called me stupid repeatedly, so I’m skipping those, but believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”

It’s words designed to needle him, Logan recognises in that moment, and the realisation takes his anger away with a frightening ease. He never wanted to be angry at Remy in the first place. He doesn’t really want to be here and have this conversation, but he has been given little choice in the matter. It was Remy who pushed for this, and Logan still does not understand why.

“You are better than this,” he says instead, and watches Remy flinch back.

“Oh,” the Cajun sighs, voice soft, “you’re not pulling any punches.”

Logan pulls his brows together into a frown. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“So what are you here for?”

“I already told you. Answers.”

“Logan,” Remy says, something patient in his voice, as if implying the Detective was being slow, “give me a little more credit. I am aware I practically got to my knees and begged for this, but I’m not as much of an idiot as you seem to believe right now. You’re here to arrest me.”

“That’s not,” Logan tries to deny, but Remy does not let him.

“There’s a van outside with your FBI pals. You’re equipped with at least two listening devices. Nothing I tell you is between the two of us, and all because you need me to say one thing on a recording that will allow you to snap those cuffs on me.”

Logan stares at the other, wordlessly, as Remy leans towards him slightly.

“And you know why you’re here?  _ Truly?  _ Not because I was an idiot, although partially, that remains true… but mostly because I decided I want to give you what you want.”

_ Give you what you want. _ The promise has Logan bite the inside of his cheek. Remy seems so sure of himself and what he says, and yet, Logan is not sure what he  _ wants _ himself. A confession, as Remy implies? Gambit in handcuffs?

_ I could visit him in prison, _ some traitorous thought in Logan’s brain interjects, and he suppresses that swiftly, wishing to forget it ever crossed his mind. Fucking Jubilee (who, Logan knows,  _ logically, _ cannot be blamed for anything) and her implying he has a  _ favourite criminal, _ because clearly that was the beginning of the end for him…

“What are your conditions?” he asks, instead of voicing any of his turbulent thoughts.

“After I give you a full confession,” Remy replies, his voice easy, calm. Not at all like someone who’s just throwing their entire life into a prison cell. Logan wants to scream, but he cannot help himself being a little impressed despite himself as well. “I want you to disable your bugs… and I want to sit here and talk to you, for as long as I wish. Then, I want you to be the one putting me in cuffs. Handing me over. If anyone can ever claim to have brought me in, it needs to be you.”

“Isn’t that too easy?”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Remy closes his eyes, and there’s something suddenly tired about him that tugs at Logan immediately, like an open wound. Damn his bleeding heart.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes,” Logan grouches, finding that this whole ordeal is simultaneously just as painful but also so much more miserable than he imagined, trying to cover up his own hurt, “you can have it all.”

“And your FBI pals will not interfere in us talking as soon as they lose audio?”

Logan pauses. “I trust them,” he says, and is surprised to find that it is the truth, “you will leave with me. They won’t interfere in our time in here.”

Remy’s demands, in truth, are peanuts. None of it is hard to do for Logan, the fact the team will be left out on what is probably going to be an uncomfortable, painfully personal talk is a minor sacrifice that will have mostly Raven disappointed, and a full confession is worth gold. If Remy can provide it, of course, but the Cajun is already nodding, apparently accepting Logan’s word as his only insurance (another tug at Logan’s heartstrings), taking a deep breath and leaning forward a little.

“My name is Remy LeBeau. I have been very successfully operating as a cat burglar, jewel thief and pickpocket within the US. So successful in fact, I’ve never been caught and been given the nickname Gambit. The only one who ever came close to catching me was you, Detective Howlett, in Yonkers, a year and a couple months ago now.” Remy’s gaze is too intense. Logan itches with the urge to shift in his seat like a nervous schoolboy.  _ Fuckin’ Yonkers, _ he thinks uncharitably.

No input is required from Logan, as Remy just continues looking at him, calmly recounting theft after theft, including the one he could not have operated, the night he’s spent with Logan… but something has Logan hold it back, not wanting to interrupt the growing list of crimes. It is surreal, sitting in a café, a bug under his shirt the other knows about, receiving a confession like  _ this _ . Judging from Remy’s demeanour, they might as well have been speaking about the weather.

_ Am I dreaming, _ Logan wonders, barely focusing on what Remy is saying at this point, and then Remy reaches for his coffee, takes a sip, and doesn’t say any more.

“That should be enough,” Remy tells his cup, subdued, and Logan swallows, nods.

“Yeah. Thanks, Gumbo.”

“Gumbo?” Remy asks, laughing slightly, apparently approving of the new nickname.

“This is the right thing for you to do,” Logan continues, not heeding Remy’s amusement, only regretting it when the smile immediately wanes on Remy’s face.

“Of course you’d think like that. You’re a cop.” His tone is not accusatory, but the words are barbed. Logan raises his brows, unimpressed and unwilling to admit that any part of this might be hurting him. Thankfully, Remy does not insist, instead leaning over the table and reaching out, with a “let me” finding Logan’s collar and popping the first button of his shirt open.

A wisp of cloth against his skin, and Logan blinks, aware he’s holding his breath, and that Remy is wearing very thin gloves that he hasn’t noticed until now either. Three buttons come undone, then Remy pulls the bug from Logan, pausing just briefly to study it before sitting back down, putting the listening device on the table between them.

Automatically, Logan reaches up to button his shirt up again, Remy smirking at him. “Leave it. You look good.”

Logan huffs. “Idiot,” he grumbles, but after a moment of indecision, lets his hands sink down again. It feels rather like Remy is making final wishes, and Logan finds himself unable to deny him any of it. He’s wrapped around the Cajun’s little finger, and the thief is going to prison. A sense of sadness grips Logan as he watches Remy, who’s turned his attention towards the listening device again.

“Nice technology,” he comments, absently, “not expensive enough I feel bad about destroying it.” Here he looks up at Logan, his gaze intense. “Are we in agreement? I destroy it, I get some real privacy with you?”

“Within this café,” Logan agrees, wary of Remy’s wording, “yes.”

Remy grins at him, and then snaps the bug clean apart. Surprised, Logan leans forward, transfixed - Remy makes quick work of reducing the little device into spare parts, seemingly completely unhindered by his gloves. The work of the master thief the world’s been chasing for years.

“Is there anything else listening to us?” Remy asks, and when Logan shakes his head  _ no, _ he deflates, exhaling deeply with a heartfelt sigh, drawing a hand through his hair, bowing his head forward. Had his hair not been styled beyond anything reasonable (in Logan’s own, unbiased opinion), his expression would have been hidden by the strands having fallen into his face, but this way, Logan can see not only the minute shake in Remy’s hands, but also the conflicting emotions on his face.

Somehow, when Logan finds his voice again, it’s not what he wants to say that comes out. “Back there, you confessed to at least one theft you didn’t commit.”

Remy looks up at him at that, lips twitching as if wanting to laugh. “You just can’t let anything go, can you?” he asks, sounding…  _ fond _ as he says it. “But don’t insult me with those  _ at least one _ things. There is no such thing as a perfect copycat of Gambit. There is, however, Storm.”

“Storm?” Logan repeats, disbelieving, “don’t bullshit me. Storm is a myth.”

“No,” Remy disagrees, “Storm is just  _ that good. _ Well, that, and retired from thieving, technically. Does things with plants now, very morally upstanding citizen, which just proves how much smarter they are than me. But as a dear friend, I asked for a favor, and… it’s acceptable, being copied, if you’re being copied at your own request and from the very best master thief I’ve ever known. So, of course, I have to confess to the theft. It is mine in all the ways it counts, except for the fact that I wasn’t  _ there. _ ”

“You are friends with Storm?”

“ _ Oui. _ ”

“Shit,” Logan says, reaching up to rub at his forehead, feeling an oncoming headache, “you played me for a complete fool. You could’ve had me running in circles forever…”

“Nah,” Remy disagrees, casually waving the notion off, “eventually, you’d have caught me anyways.”

“ _ Eventually _ is a helluva lot farther away than  _ right now, _ ” Logan grumbles, and Remy shrugs.

“Maybe,” he allows, sighing deeply again. “I thought… I thought that was what I wanted, Logan. The most epic game of cat and mouse ever played. Somehow, I’ve never seen retirement for me. I would kill myself or get caught instead, and if it was gonna happen anyway, I wanted… well, I wanted the one man catching me that made me sweat before.”

“And things would be more exciting if we fucked on the side?”

“Undeniably,” Remy murmurs, looking away, “but that’s not… I did not plan for that. Ever since Yonkers, you’ve been on my mind. I considered that it would be  _ such  _ fun to have… a tumble,  _ tu comprends? _ But then you… I had so much fun.”

“Wow,” Logan replies, and some bitterness creeps into his voice, “that was low of you,  _ Gambit. _ ”

“Y’don’t get it,” Remy shakes his head, the Cajun accent coming through strong, “I wasn’t jus’  _ playin’. _ You’re a smart man, Logan, y’should have realized why we’re  _ here _ ,  _ non? _ Oh, yes, it was s’posed to be jus’ some fun, but it got outta hand, I-- I couldn’t bear lyin’ to ya any more, I wanted to be  _ real, _ ‘cause you became too real fo’ me, an’ I’d never… I’d never felt this way ‘bout anyone before, Logan.”

“Is this another confession?” Logan asks, his throat dry. He wishes he had something to drink… preferably something strong that burns on the way down, but he’s frozen in place, and Remy is glaring at him, looking suspiciously close to tears.

“Stop hidin’, Logan.”

“I’m not…”

“Yeh, y’are,” Remy says, and the quiet voice shuts Logan up quicker than any amount of yelling could’ve done, “an’ I can’t even blame ya, ‘cause I’m a  _ mess, _ an’ I just dragged ya right into it wit’ me, but you… I gotta know if  _ you _ were playin’ with  _ me. _ ”

_ Say yes, _ Logan thinks at himself rather desperately,  _ don’t be selfish, make this easier on him, you have to let go, _ but he already knows he won’t manage that level of deception, is not strong enough for it, not with Remy looking at him with such obvious sadness.

“No,” he all but whispers, reaching out to catch Remy’s hand between his, pulling the glove from the other’s fingers, and then brings up Remy’s hand to kiss the inside of the other’s palm. “Never, Remy. I can’t… I can’t help myself ‘round you. You’re a terrible influence, and I… none of this can go anywhere,” he can feel Remy’s hand shaking within his, hears the sharp inhale, knows if he looked up Remy’s eyes would be wide and too much to bear, so he doesn’t, “and you damn well know why, so don’t you dare askin’ me for something impossible, but… seven blazes, I could never regret havin’ met ya, Remy.”

“Star-crossed lovers,” Remy murmurs softly, and now Logan looks up, to Remy giving him a soft smile, his eyes too wet.

“Don’t go cheesy on me, now.”

“I’m a liar and a thief, Logan, but believe me, between the two of us, you’re definitely the sap.”

Logan’s lips quirk up despite himself, and yes, he’s still holding Remy’s hand. “This is terrible.”

“Oui. It feels awful, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll have to cuff ya before we walk outta here.”

“Good, I’ll need some jerk-off material in the near future.”

“Incorrigible,” Logan grumbles, half-heartedly at best, and pulls one hand away (still holding Remy’s hand with the other one), fishing a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and putting them on the table between them. Remy’s lips twist with an emotion Logan cannot identify as he looks at them, and then takes his hand out of Logan’s hold, taking off his second glove before putting his wrists into position slightly above the table.

Logan finds himself caught between an intense wish to not having to be the one doing this as well as being intensely glad for being the one to do this, unable to stomach even just picturing anybody else putting cuffs on Remy… and how stupid is that, when Remy is going to prison, where Logan cannot protect him from anything, anymore.

The cuffs click closed around Remy’s wrist, and when Logan looks up it is to Remy staring at him intently. “Logan,” he says, and reaches forward with his hands, undeterred by the handcuffs, grabbing Logan’s shirt and pulling him forward.

“What,” Logan says, and the question is answered without words, because then Remy’s lips are on his own, he’s being kissed like Remy needs it to  _ breathe, _ and for a moment, for a breath, everything else falls away.

“I’ll miss you,” Remy whispers against his lips, and reality catches up to Logan with those barely audible words.

“Shut up.” He pulls Remy in again, and Remy laughs into that kiss, breathless.

“The woman one table over has jus’ pulled a phone camera on us, yanno.”

“How ‘bout you focus on givin’ her something worth filmin’ then, eh?”

“Hm. Gladly.”

 

When the until then near-empty café starts getting noisier, Logan finally manages to get the both of them out of there, somewhat surprised nobody’s kicked them out for making out like teenagers over a coffee table, his jacket thrown over Remy’s cuffs, not that the Cajun seems to care much about them being visible or no.

In fact, Logan’s actions get him sighed at, and he decides he really doesn’t want to know what Remy’s thinking, he doesn’t even really wanna know what he is thinking  _ himself _ at this moment, leading Remy to the van around the corner. The door opens before Logan can do so much as knock at it, Raven glaring at him. “Finally,” she snaps at him, “do I need to remind you what I  _ could _ have done to you for willfully letting listening equipment be destroyed in the field?!”

“She’s just mad she couldn’t listen to the juiciest parts,” interjects Jeanne-Marie, jumping out of the van while Raven stays standing inside, glowering, “let’s get him inside.”

Remy raises his wrists at Logan. “Your jacket,” he says simply, and just gives Logan a small smile as the other takes it, almost mechanically, and walks into the van with the air of somebody who wanted to do that all along anyways.

Logan watches him, his tongue tied, and catches sight of Claremont, sniffling pitifully in the back of the truck. As soon as he notices Logan looking, he just waves his hand. “Allergies, I’m fine, meds are gonna kick in soon. Feeling better already,” he promises, although not looking too stable as he does, and Logan’s brows draw together in concern.

“Is this okay, should I come along?” he asks nobody in particular, looking at Remy who’s sat down, eyes fixed firmly at a point on the van’s floor as if it was especially riveting.

“ _ Now _ you’re trying to undermine my authority?” Raven huffs, arms crossed in front of her chest, rolling her eyes. “ _ Boys, _ I swear to all that is holy. Beaubier, you take the man out for a drink, that’s an order.”

“You’re not my Boss,” throws Jeanne-Marie back, and Raven rolls her eyes even harder. If she keeps going like that, she’ll roll them all the way out of her skull at some point, Logan catches himself thinking rather senselessly.

“For the love of  _ everything _ , Jeanne-Marie, be a  _ human _ and  _ pretend _ like I am in this one, stupid situation. It won’t  _ happen again. _ ”

It is with one glance at Logan that Beaubier nods. “Understood… Boss.”

Raven just huffs again, slamming the door shut with more force than strictly necessary. “Not exactly protocol,” Logan says, slowly, and Jeanne-Marie shakes her head.

“It’s Darkholme. She does this shit and get away with it, and I stopped asking. Whiskey?”

“Is that even a question?”

Jeanne-Marie laughs. Logan cannot quite bring himself to smile, feeling like a coward for the relief he feels mixed in with the pain as he turns to walk away from the van in search for the closest bar with the Agent next to him.

 

He really, really has been sitting around suffering long enough to deserve that glass of whiskey. And if it turns into a full bottle of it down his belly, well... he'll regret that in the morning. It ought to be enough for now.  



	6. It's What We Deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is struggling.
> 
> So is Remy. But in a very different kinda way.

The next morning comes as mercilessly as usual, Logan waking up on Jeanne-Marie’s couch to a dog licking his face and feeling like he’s stuffed his mouth full of cotton. Even as he grumbles, one hand trying to keep the dog nose out of his face, the other hand flies to his forehead that feels distinctly like it’s falling apart. He’s in for an impressive hangover, and it’s only gonna get worse as soon as he opens his eyes, he’s aware.

“Northstar, down,” someone says, and while Jeanne-Marie is not raising her voice to speak the command, Logan nonetheless winces. The dog walks over to her immediately, and when Logan squints his eyes open he sees the mutt wagging its tail at the agent excitedly. Jeanne-Marie has what looks like half a croissant between her teeth and is filling herself a glass of orange juice. Logan will blame the healthiness of that drink for the sudden feeling of queasiness as he slowly rights himself up on the couch (ew, vitamin c).

“There’s painkillers and water on the coffee table,” Jeanne-Marie says, having taken the pastry out of her mouth, and Logan blinks at the offering right in front of his nose. Well, that’s… nice. He feels oddly pampered, here. It’s more than a little unusual that his hangovers are accompanied by anything other than himself and his misery.

“Thanks,” he brings out, and his voice sounds as if he’d been swallowing cigarettes whole, jesus. Huskier than that one soul singer,  _ what was the name, _ his pounding head is not helping him out here.

“You’re welcome,” comes the easy reply, “listen, you’re gonna have to get moving soon. Work is calling and I doubt you want me to talk to the team about how you passed out in my place.”

“The hell did I end up here?” Logan asks, clearing his throat which doesn’t help his raspy voice one bit, and quickly swallowing two painkillers.

“Oh, how much do you remember?” Jeanne-Marie has demolished her pastry and is now leaning against her kitchen counter, sipping orange juice, her dog - Northstar, was it? - repeatedly pushing its head against her free hand.

Logan squints. “How are  _ you _ so quirky?”

“Me? I didn’t have any alcohol. It was a weeknight and I was driving.” Something about the look on her face - the subtly condescending raised brow, in particular - makes Logan think he probably didn’t wanna ask. Especially since, while she explains, he remembers part of a relevant scene in embarrassing detail. “As a matter of fact? You did not shut up about how embarrassing it was I was  _ abstaining. _ Coming back now?”

A wince. “Sorry. I was bein’ a bit of a dick, eh?”

“Slightly more than a bit, but it’s alright,” Jeanne-Marie shrugs, petting Northstar absently, “I knew what I was getting into, what with the day you’d had. And the venting probably helped you.”

“Oh, crap, no. I  _ vented? _ ”

“Better for you if you don’t remember that part right now,” comes the reply, and Jeanne-Marie  _ winks _ at him, obviously amused. Logan groans, rubbing at the side of his head. The painkillers are starting to kick in at least. “Now get up. You gotta get out with me or you’ll scare the crap out of my dogsitter, the way you look right now.”

“Thanks, no further encouragement,  _ please. _ ”

Jeanne-Marie has the audacity to laugh at that, and Logan smiles, if a little lopsided. His headache is intensifying again with her chuckles, so it’s really the best he can do under the circumstances.

 

* * *

 

Packing is awful.

Packing is the seventh layer of hell if you do it last minute while badly hungover. At least Jeanne-Marie had the decency of, as soon as she was getting tired of laughing at Logan bumbling around her apartment like a hungover college student (and gleefully telling him about the comparison), calling up Erik and making sure whether Logan could stay away from work and just go home - which, honestly, Logan would’ve done anyways, but hey. Having heard Erik say “are you sure you didn’t drink, Beaubier? Get him out of my hair and I’ll have Claremont do your paperwork today, he's complaining too much about having been roofied or some shit, which I don't have _any goddamn patience for_ so please give me the opportunity to punish him for not taking his fucking allergy meds” probably makes it a little better. Playing by the rules or something. Logan doesn’t really care, he commented it by grunting and petting the dog. And then Jeanne-Marie hugged him before leading him out of the apartment without any further ado.

Maybe he should get a dog, he considers, a little maudlin as he throws his shirts into his suitcase. It’s not like he had much of a love life before Remy happened, either - he tends to have bad luck in that department, and this time around obviously was no fucking different - but since he’s now _definitely never dating again,_ he should probably get a furry companion. At least someone would be waiting for him at home. Not that he needs that, or anything.

“Ugh,” Logan exhales, sitting down heavily on the floor right in front of his suitcase, giving it a disgruntled look - as if it was the suitcases' fault that it was already fully packed (Logan frankly didn't bring a lot of shit with him, but then, he's always been the kinda guy getting by on bare bones, always prepared to having to deal without anything resembling fresh food for a month or twenty-four). "This is it. We're going home," he tells the apartment, loudly, and feeling silly for it immediately. Of course there is no response, not that Logan even would have paid attention to it at this point, putting his head into his hands, bowing forward and breathing deeply.

Going home. That is something to look forward to, at least. Getting out of this stupid place with all the stupid memories, because if he stays here for a second longer having to remember Remy standing right next to him, he's gonna cry, and this is not the time or place to lose it. He’s gotta get home. Maybe once he’s home, he’ll feel better.

And maybe he won’t, but then he can depend on his friends. Either way is a win. And it is with that thought in mind that Logan exhales again, counting to three, then inhaling to the same count. "Time to go home now," he says, firmly, and gets up, closing the suitcase, grabbing the trash from the apartment, checking that he's leaving the keys on the counter like he's supposed to, and lets the door slam behind him. Westchester lies ahead, and as long as he just focuses on that instead of what is behind him, it'll be fine.

 

* * *

 

"You look terrible," are Jubilee's choice words of greeting, and Logan grunts vaguely in acknowledgment, while Kitty jabs her in the side in a silent admonishment.

"Shush, you."

"What? It's true!"

"And terribly rude."

Logan shakes his head, finding his lips quirking upwards despite himself. "You're not denying it, Pryde."

"Well, Detective, I can't very well start lying to you _now,_ can I?" Kitty grins back, and Logan throws his suitcase in the back of her car before coming back around and wrapping her into a hug, something which Kitty returns with gusto, squeezing him only slightly too hard.

"I missed you, partner."

"Yeah," says Logan in reply, and Kitty laughs, stepping back, "I mean, y'know I missed you too, eh? All of the team, really. Even you," and that's where he nods at Jubilee, who winks and throws up her hand in a peace sign. Kids these days.

"So, are we driving you home? Or do you want to check up on the rest of the team right now, go by the precinct?"

"No way, Kitty," protests Jubilee, "we gotta get him home, sit down with a cool beer and have him tell all about why he looks like he wrestled a raccoon."

"A raccoon?"

"They fight dirty. Really, I wouldn't challenge a raccoon."

"I feel like I don't wanna question that overmuch."

"Probably wise."

"Beer sounds good," interjects Logan, and Jubilee claps in her hands excitedly for absolutely no reason that Logan could fathom. So much enthusiasm cannot be good for you.

"Yes! We know your weakness," she exclaims, and Logan tilts his head at her vaguely

"I thought my weakness was whiskey?"

"Oh, don't try to argue with me, Mister. I'll only point out your alcoholic tendencies if you dare try questioning my authority."

"What authority," Logan grumbles, although good-naturedly, and this time it's Kitty, watching the exchange with a smile, who shakes her head.

"She's been promoted. And if you agree, she's your new partner for good."

Logan looks at Jubilee, and now that he has heard that and really looks at her, he can see the small tell-tale signs of nervousness on her. She's fidgety, and trying hard to gloss over it.

"Well," he says, slowly, "I'd be honored to work with you, Detective Lee."

Jubilee whoops and bounces up to him at an alarming speed only to give him a hug the likes of which actually punches the breath out of Logan. "Thank you, thank you, Logan! I'm so glad that you agree! Do you know how much I've been looking up to you ever since--"

"Alright, alright, kids," Kitty interrupts, smiling wider now, "get in the car. We still need to work on getting those beers, and I don't think Logan is quite in the headspace to have a moment right now."

"How dare you?" Logan protests, although he's smiling, too, "don't listen to her," he says to Jubilee, who's still hugging him, and he's definitely not telling her to stop, "I'm lookin' forward to havin' you as my partner, too."

"Oh, my god. Please say that again and let me record it, I need to have that as a new alarm. The ones that remind me to be responsible."

Getting into the car takes, all things considered, probably a little longer than it should, but nobody really manages to become cross about it. And the warm welcome helps Logan to feel much better about himself, too, so it's only when he's back at his apartment (which Jubilee, who's never stepped foot in, sums up as "I mean, I've lived in worse _and_ better than this, but I guess you can't expect too much out of a bachelor pad") and seated on his tiny balcony, Kitty and Jubilee having dragged three chairs outside and having sat down on either side of him, then toasting, each with a beer in hand, to Logan being back, that it catches up with him again.

Logan takes a sip of his beer and frowns, looking somewhere in the distance, not that it will help him much. He's sitting between two very observational women, they won't let him get away with pretending that the pidgeon crapping on the brick wall they're staring at is suddenly capturing all of his attention.

"Alright, so the beer's perfectly cool, that can't be it," starts Jubilee after just a brief pause of silence, and Logan can see Kitty nodding out of the corner of his eye, but she doesn't add anything, content to let Jubilee do the talking, "what's eating you, big man?"

"Big man?" Logan questions, and Jubilee grins.

"Yeah, we all know you're pint-sized and we love you just as you are, blah blah, you're avoiding the question."

"Hm," Logan says, making a sound of vague agreement, "that's because it's... it's a long story. Complicated and embarrassing."

"Personal or professional?" Kitty asks, and Logan pulls a face.

"A bit of both."

"Oh. Oh, shit," is Jubilee's response to that, "well, goddang, Logan. You've told us the arrest worked out and everything, so if you're not happy about that, then..."

"Let's try not to conjecture," says Kitty, gesturing at Jubilee with her beer, "let him tell us. Logan, anything you say to us right here of course stays completely confidential. You know that. We're not here as your coworkers or colleagues, but as friends."

"I know," Logan agrees, strangely warmed by the both of them teaming up to showing their concern over him... and getting him to talk to them. "Fine, I guess if you really wanna know that badly, it's quite a good story."

"You know, sounds like your time in Washington was a lot more exciting than what we've been up to," comments Jubilee, and Kitty snorts into her beer.

"If you're working in our field," Logan says, darkly, "excitement usually ain't a good thing."

"Go ahead," grumbles Jubilee, in a manner which nobody buys is serious for one second, "rain on my parade."

"Well, shortly after arriving there, I met a guy..."

"Wait, wait, you have to give us more than that," interrupts Jubilee again, sitting forward with the intent of a bloodhound having sniffed out potential prey, "I bet Random Dude is important to this story. You gotta tell us how you met him."

Logan looks at her evenly, taking a swig of his beer. "This is gonna take forever."

"Sounds good to me."

"I mean if you keep talking over me, Jubilation."

"Oh, ew, fine, if you're gonna be like that," Jubilee pulls a face and sits back down again. Logan stares at the label of his beer for a few moments, none of the women intent on breaking the silence, apparently having agreed without words to just give him a moment. Finally, Logan sighs.

"Right. So, there was this one agent on the FBI team who was flirtin' with me."

"Unprofessional," comments Kitty, and Logan nods.

"Exactly. One time, I'm in this waffle house, and then she's suddenly there..."

 

* * *

 

The sun had set completely by the time Logan is through with his story, and once he falls silent, he feels the chill of the night seep into his jacket.

"Holy shit, it's like Romeo and Juliet. The West Side Story," mumbles Jubilee to nobody in particular, and Kitty's hand squeezes Logan's shoulder comfortingly. He hasn't noticed her putting it there at all.

"I'm sorry," she says, "this was such a shit show. Maybe you shouldn't have gone out there after all. This Gambit person sounds like a real piece of work."

"That, he definitely is," Logan says, and strangely feels simultaneously like laughing or crying, no real idea in which direction this is gonna go, emotionally. He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and Jubilee puts her hand on his other shoulder, the both of them anchoring him, maybe without even realising how much comfort he is drawing from this. "But, weirdly... meetin' him was... it was good, y'know? Sure, he played me. Completely. Lied to me. Just kinda made a fool outta me. So I should be angry at him. I should be... I should be angry, and I know that. Only, I'm not angry. I'm just... I'm just sad. And I'll miss him. Already do, honestly."

"Maybe you should visit him in prison," Kitty suggests, and Logan breathes out a short chuckle, shaking his head.

"No. If I do that, then that... that's weakness. That's telling him he won, and I fell for every last one of his lies. He wanted me to believe that the feelings were real. But I don't think I can, after everything, y'know? He knew exactly who I was. He wanted me on that job. And the he seduces me, and wants me to believe it wasn't planned?"

"Yeah, then don't visit him," says Jubilee, "someone who lies to you like that doesn't deserve you anyways."

"Yeah," Logan agrees, and blinks. But it's too late now, there is already a tear on his cheek, and both Kitty and Jubilee put their beers down and wrap him up between the two of them, offering silent comfort while he cries. How long they sit like that, Logan couldn't say, but a while after his tears are long dried on his face, Kitty stands up and stretches.

"Alright," she says, and smiles at the both of them, "it's getting cold. Let's move this inside. Have you eaten, Logan? I brought mini pizzas."

"Oh my god, mini pizzas!" enthuses Jubilee immediately, and Logan can't do much more than simply rub over his face with the tissue Kitty handed him before, brushing off the tears, and laugh.

It's over a mini pizza that he thanks them for being there for him, and Kitty damn near looks like she's going to cry over that herself. Jubilee, however, just fingerguns him. "Any time, partner. And if you wanna make up for it, just listen to me rant about the injustice in Game of Thrones without complaining."

Logan wrinkles his nose. "Forever?"

"Probably a bit of a tall order," Jubilee admits, "let's make it a week."

"Deal." They shake on it, and once the both of them trundle out of his apartment again (after Kitty has had to prove that she's been drinking alcohol-free beer all evening and can therefore drive without getting pulled over by one of the jerks in traffic control, stop worrying, Logan), Logan starts unpacking. For better or worse, he's arrived back in Westchester now, and after having had the last twenty-four hours unpacked on his balcony, he feels good to go again. And that doesn't mean that he doesn't think of Remy, or of what they've had together, or the last time he's seen the other, but thinking about all of that is... well, it stays tough even after all the talking. Logan is aware that it's going to take time to really process and work through everything - things with Remy have always moved so fast, he has to take time to slow down, now.

Luckily he's a patient guy. He's ready to have time passing do its thing to make this feel okay to him. Eventually, he won't think of Remy at all. Maybe that won't happen today or tomorrow, but eventually. He'll get there. Only, he’s not even sure he wants to  _ try, _ but seven blazes, he cannot think like that!

It’s not even a question anymore. He  _ has _ to get over Remy at some point. Because honestly, he'll be damned if he so much as considers starting a goddamn prison romance. Can you see him sit down to write cheesy letters? Exactly.   
And it's with that thought in mind that Logan drudges on.   
  
Life is not bad. In fact, it is really easy to fall back into his old work rhythm in the precinct. After a few slaps on the back for a job well done in Washington and a bit more confectionary than is usual in the office to celebrate his return, his colleagues return to their routine including Logan. To Logan, that routine itself feels like a temporarily-lost friend, so he’s more than happy to get right back in the good old working sludge.

Jubilee as a partner does him good, too - she's bubbly and animated enough to make up for his grumpy exterior, especially when they need to interview someone, and Logan is more than content to let her do the talking. Watching the newly-minted Detective do good at their job is something he enjoys immensely, and when she hesitates or stumbles in places, he's there to back her up with his own experience and finely honed nose. He’s got no doubts at all that Jubilee will go on to surpass him eventually, the way Kitty is doing right now, and seeing them do that is the most amazing thing to Logan, especially knowing that he’s taught them a lot, ultimately helping them grow better and get to where they get in the end, even if his part in that may be small.

Still, he does play a part in it... and he would definitely proud of how Jubilee swiftly pulls a gun on the guy who she's established has been following her for the last three blocks, too.

"Woah!" the stranger exclaims, raising his hands, not above his head but showing her his empty palms, "it's not a crime to walk in the street, Officer."

"Why were you following me, creep?"

"Hey now, I'm not a creep," the stranger defends himself, seeming insulted now, "it's not even you I'm stalking--"

"What?"

"Forget I said anything. Listen, I just... I guess I wanted to talk to you?"

Jubilee gives the other another suspicious once-over, then lowers her gun. If her gut is right, the guy is a weirdo (the trench coat gives off that vibe to her) but not intent on hurting her. Still, she might be wrong, and keeps the gun firmly grasped in both hands.

"You guess?"

"I mean..."

"Jeez, dude, what's with the stuttering? You don't look like you should be behaving just like an awkward college student. Age-wise."

The stranger pulls a face, but wisely says nothing, lowering his hands now, although he keeps his movements slow.

"How about you start by telling me your name?"

"I'm Remy," the other says, studying Jubilee like he expects a reaction to that, "Remy LeBeau."

Jubilee just blinks at him, wordlessly. "Okay? I'm sorry, Remy, but am I supposed to know you, are you in my yearbook or something? Because I definitely do not remember, and I'm usually pretty good with cute faces."

"Thanks."

"Not that much of a compliment. It's your face, you didn't do anything for it."

"Uh, I moisturize."

"Oh, my god. What do you want, Remy LeWeirdo?"

There's a small pause, then Remy seems to finally get a hold of himself again. "Yes. Excuse me.The gun thing threw me off. Suppose I'm a bit nervous around those."

"Reasonable so far," deadpans Jubilee, not even trying to bother suppressing the eyeroll, "what with how guns can kill people and everything."

"I'm just… investigating something that I think you might know a thing or two about. Have you heard of the Gambit case?"

"Wrong department for that, buddy. Gambit was arrested down in Washington."

"Yes," Remy agrees, an easy smile on his face, "but if I'm not mistaken, it was your partner who got him arrested, wasn't it?"

"Are you a reporter?" Jubilee asks, suspicious again, if for completely different reasons now.

"No. Or at least, not the kind who writes a story. I'm doing a private investigation on behalf of Gambit. Turns out, he apparently wishes to get the news from the guy who got him where he is now."

"Interesting," Jubilee admits, not missing the small exhale of relief Remy makes when she finally stows her gun away at her hip again. What kind of idiot private investigator sneaks up on a policewoman while they're on duty and armed? Seriously. She's definitely making a note to never hire this Remy LeBeau. "Only, if that's what you're after, why aren't you at the door of the person of interest?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure I would be welcome. From what I've been told, there might have been some... difficulties, in Detective Howlett's relationship with Gambit. And he is an intimidating man."

Idiot and coward, Jubilee notes inwardly, raising her brows.

"Ah."

"Yes. So I was wondering, if I could maybe get your account... as his partner? Nothing overly personal, I promise. My client just wants to know how he's doing. And whether he's missed."

"Wow. Sounds kinda desperate."

Remy gives an easygoing smile, shrugging. "Yeah, I guess it does. I try not to ask my clients uncomfortable questions."

"Okay, but you're then going to stay away from Logan."

"Uh..."

"Before, you basically admitted to stalking him. Unless there's someone else around here you're currently stalking?"

Remy opens his mouth, then closes it again, giving a brief shake of his head. "No, that's quite... you're right. I was referring to Detective Howlett."

"So, that's gotta stop. In short, I talk to you, and you get out of here."

"That should be dependent on what you actually tell me. For fairness."

"Fairness? Buddy, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I got my handcuffs right here if you wanna get arrested for harassment of a police officer. In case you didn't know, stalking falls under criminal harassment, so you're gonna spend more than a night in jail."

"Fine!" Remy's hands shoot up again, as if Jubilee had pointed her gun at him instead of threatening to have him arrested. "Fine. I talk to you, I get out of here. No further trouble."

Jubilee gives the other a long look, then shakes her head, sighing deeply. "You know, I really shouldn't be doing this at all."

In reply, Remy smiles, for the first time appearing charming. “I am aware, which is why I’m so thankful that you are doing it.”

When Jubilee turns away from him, she swallows nervously. Suddenly, she feels like she got into more trouble here than she bargained for, even though she cannot really explain the feeling to herself at all.

Remy definitely has none of that sort of worry, himself. He seems lighter, now that she’s agreed, and chats to Jubilee much easier, eventually wearing her down enough to have her sit down in a cupcake shop, even though she’s not technically allowed to take breaks like this. If Logan saw her right now, she thinks to herself, somewhat miserably, he’d be having a fit for more than one reason.

“So,” Remy opens, simultaneously putting a red velvet cupcake in front of Jubilee, “Detective Howlett doesn’t talk about Gambit, I gather?”

Jubilee is almost too busy drooling at the really, extremely tasty looking cupcake to listen to him, and tears her attention away from the sugar bomb with difficulty. “Depends on your given definition of talking about someone, I guess. It’s true Logan doesn’t usually bring the guy up in casual conversation, but trust me, I don’t need an introduction. I know about everything that went down.”

Remy seems surprised by that, blinking at her rather oddly. “Is that so.”

“Yes. Don’t you believe me?”

“Then… do you know Gambit’s name?”

“Sheesh, what is it with you? If I wanted to know, I could look it up right now, it’s not like that information is protected. But Logan is not exactly the gossipy kind. It was all ‘Gambit’ or ‘Gumbo’ with him.”

“Right,” Remy is still blinking entirely too much, “that’s very, uh, considerate of him.”

“Considerate is not the word I’d use. He goes into not enough details in his stories. Leaves out all the most interesting, juicy bits, I just know it.”

“Huh.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re really bad at your job?”

For some reason, that has Remy grinning and shaking his head. Jubilee huffs, and takes a bite out of her cupcake. It’s just as sweet as it looks, which means once she’s through with it, there’s a good chance she’ll be in sugar high land.

“Well, you  _ are. _ Just goddamn ask me what Gambit wants to know. Or should I do that for you too? How’s Detective Howlett? Oh, well enough, if you ask me. Happy to be back here, he didn’t like the FBI much, but the shit Gambit’s pulled was too much, Logan didn’t deserve any of that, and I don’t think he’s entirely over it. It’s been what, a week? A week and two days? He needs some more time, but his alcohol intake is back to normal levels. It’s been ‘pissed off’ level for the first couple of days, then he went a day without even one beer, which was even more worrying-- okay, I gave you enough, right?”

Remy nods, content to gape at her. The idiot is not even taking notes! Or recording shit! Jubilee is almost tempted to pull her phone out and introduce him to the recording function, because this is pissing her off, but not enough for her to actually do all of his job for him - she wants to get out of here so she can safely eat the cupcake away from human interaction.

Experience has shown she really shouldn’t be talking to anyone while in uniform  _ and _ on a sugar high.

“Right, and the second one… does Logan miss Gambit? Sheesh, I dunno. Gambit broke his heart, you know. I don’t think he  _ deserves _ so much as sending some whacko PI up here to sniff around his door for an ego-trip. In short, whether or not Logan misses Gambit is none of my business, and it sure as fuck is none of yours. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” says Remy. He insists on holding the door for her, then shakes her hand before departing. Jubilee has a very, very strange feeling about all of this, but she still devours her cupcake with gusto while sitting in the police car Logan’s come to pick her up in, ignoring his judgmental looks as she tears into the sweet thing.

“Where did you even get that?”

“Don’t be so jealous,” mumbles Jubilee through a mouthful of cupcake, and when Logan mutters something that suspiciously sounds like it includes the word  _ cholesterol, _ Jubilee laughs so hard she almost chokes. No, seriously - Logan stops and does the Heimlich maneuver, they have a serious talk about eating while driving (“just don’t fuckin’ die on a cupcake, Lee”), and it’s all in all enough to put the strange encounter with that Remy person firmly out of Jubilee’s mind for a good long while. Not that she would’ve shared anything of it with Logan, anyways. Not exactly prime material to help your friend getting over his latest heartbreak, to tell him that heartbreak managed to hire a PI out of prison, right?

 

* * *

 

Remy, on the other hand, is not very likely to put the encounter out of his mind at all. After the - sadly not as conclusive as he had wished for, although what exactly that would’ve looked like, Remy doesn’t really know - talk with Detective Lee, he heads towards what has been his new home for the last couple days, a bright apartment in an unassuming neighborhood which, quite frankly, is far,  _ far _ below his former habits. Still, the important part is the three cats which greet him with meowing as he opens the door, Oliver as usual trying fruitlessly to escape into the hallway. Remy is long since used to the escapades of his silliest cat-son, scooping him up easily while Figaro headbutts his ankles. Lucifer barely bothers to greet him, sitting on his perch on the top of the cat tree, watching. As Remy walks past, he reaches out to scritch the ginger cat between its ears, and Lucifer purrs, then moves to stretch languidly before making his way down the cat tree in two elegant jumps.

“I miss him,” Remy confesses to the black cat in his arm, and Oliver blinks up at him out of large eyes, “so how dumb is it of me t’be ‘ere and not managin’ to add the two points o’ courage needed t’go approachin’ ‘im?” Oliver strains a little, and licks a random stripe across Remy’s jaw in support. It tickles so badly Remy almost drops him right then and there.

The Cajun takes that as a sign of it being time to set him down and feed his furry friends.

 

Days crawl by, and it doesn’t get better. How could it, with Remy being as indecisive as he is? He goes from considering to up and leave the continent (let Logan find someone better; it’s not like that would be hard, Logan has a heart of gold, and Remy is a complicated bastard who doesn’t make anything easier for anyone) and retire from his illustrious career at the Côte d’Azur as originally planned to considering settling down in Westchester without telling Logan, getting a job and slowly infiltrating his circle of friends, and ends up being unable to make a decision into either direction. At most, he follows Logan around for half a day, going to such lengths as to diving into a dumpster when he feels Logan might be noticing that someone is following him.

(He gets unspeakable things in his hair, and quietly vows to never,  _ ever _ do that again.)

One thing is becoming quickly clear, however: Remy needs to either leave this place, or talk to Logan. Before he drives himself to complete insanity. This state of limbo, of both heartache and hope, cannot be good for him. Logan is out there  _ getting over him, _ and if Remy waits too long, he’ll be forgotten, or worse - Logan will have found someone else.

 

Which is how Remy starts making a habit out of frequenting Logan’s favorite dive bar. It’s a dim place with a dirty pool table and awful toilets, and the first time Remy goes there, he leaves tipsy and miserable, Logan not having made an appearance.

Still, sooner or later he will, right? Remy gives up on trying to order the piss-poor wine to just drinking the same beer as everyone else orders, and it becomes habit to the point where he’s not certain why he keeps coming here, when Logan is obviously not, and considering that he could be having a  _ nice _ drink in a  _ nice _ place instead. Maybe it’s some sorta masochism, he considers glumly, as he walks in the bar for the fifth evening in a row, ordering a beer and sitting down at the bar. He deserves to suffer for being this amount of a coward, or something like that.

But that evening should be different, and not in the way Remy would wish for it to be, undoubtedly.

“Hey, fruitcake,” comes a voice from behind him, and Remy pauses with his beer in mid-air before turning on his stool and giving the man behind him, looking very much just like the typical trucker, a surprised look. For just a millisecond, he wonders what gave him away, and then dismisses the thought again. This is the 21st century, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to try deny anything about who he is.

Besides, and Remy licks his lips as he looks the other up and down, maybe getting into a fight would help him get out of this low. “Fruitcake? The nineties called, they want their uncreative taunts back.”

The stranger snorts, unimpressed, making his stance a little wider. “I don’t give a shit, fag. You gotta get out of our bar.”

“Really? And what are you so afraid of? That I’m gonna check you out or that you’re wanting me to?”

There’s a pause, the bar having gone almost utterly silent. There’s not many patrons around, and the barman seems intent on ignoring everything going on, polishing glasses with his dirty rag as if this place gave two hoots about basic principles of cleanliness.

Remy shakes his head, dismissing the stranger, and turns back around to sip at his beer.  _ Too soon, _ he admonishes himself, as he gets pulled off of his seat and pushed to the floor, aware that this is gonna give him a lot of bruises, but in the moment, he barely feels it.

“Ouch,” he says, very calmly, looking up at the man, raising himself to a standing position slowly and putting the now empty, but miraculously still whole, glass on the bar, “you made me spill my beer, man.”

All of this, Remy accompanies by a wide smile. The guy never sees the punch coming.

 

* * *

 

"Stop!" comes a new voice, barely making it through to Remy, except - it sounds so familiar, and then there's a hand on his chest, keeping him in place, and he looks up at the back of Logan's head, who's glowering at the stranger who picked a fight before. Remy takes this moment to look at the other guy, cataloguing his obvious injuries with disappointment - he hardly had time to give him much more than what is going to turn into a really impressive black eye. "Really? You know if you want to pick fights with people over their sexuality, you're gonna have to fight me, too?"

The stranger looks embarrassed, flushing scarlet and mumbling something about how he would never, which probably has more than one thing to do with the badge Logan wears very visibly. Logan scoffs, unimpressed, and gives him a small shove. "Get outta here." And then he turns around to face Remy, and it's a moment that should have been magical, but Remy is not sure whether his knees are going weak from looking into Logan's face or because of that headbutt he's gotten. Honestly, it seems a little hard to balance himself out right now, so it might just be the latter. Still, looking at Logan and having Logan look at him, seeing him, even when he's frowning... "Logan," he says, and Logan shoves a handkerchief with a plaid pattern on it at him, because of course he carries that kinda shit around in his pocket.

"Tilt your head back. Your nose is bleeding."

Remy follows the command obediently enough, using his free hand to grab Logan's shoulder so he hopefully won't keel over, the other hand holding the tissue to his nose. "Always worse than it looks," he mumbles, as if in an attempt to comfort Logan, but Logan just huffs, slapping some bills on the counter and proceeding to drag Remy out of the bar.

It’s confusing, really, since there is Logan, and Logan is helping him, but he’s not talking, and he might be mad, and he didn’t as much as say Remy’s name - oh, yeah, and then Logan is leading him to a police car, which has Remy freeze up briefly.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Logan grits out, “this is your ride. I’m not arresting you.”

Jubilee, who’s obviously waiting for Logan, leaning against the police car, makes big eyes at the both of them. “Not arresting him?” she echoes, a couple of questions in her voice. Logan shakes his head, waves her off, says “later”, and Jubilee draws her brows together in an expression that clearly says she is not happy about this, but is not going to try drag it out into an argument on the sidewalk at least, opening the door to the back seat for Remy.

Remy is frankly exhausted at this point, and decides not to overthink what is happening right now (like an idiot), just letting himself fall onto the back seat and leaning his head against the headrest, tissue still at his nose, determined to keep his eyes on the roof of the car.

“And where are we taking him?” Jubilee asks, once Logan has strapped himself in the passenger seat.

“My place.”

“ _ Your _ place?” the disapproval that swings in her tone is so obvious, Remy can picture the way she’s looking at Logan right now without seeing her. Jubilee has her brows drawn together, the key in the ignition but she is not reaching for it yet, “do you know this guy’s been stalking you?”

There’s a pause, a moment of silence in which Logan looks at Remy, and Remy, wincing, wishes the ground would just go and swallow him whole, please.

“Please, Jubilee. I have things to talk to him about.”

“Ugh, men,” the young detective groans, but starts the car without further protest. Remy closes his eyes, trying not to think of what this ‘talking’ could look like - the way he sees it, Logan could either decide to punch  _ or _ fuck him and either would be absolutely fair.

The drive passes in silence, and Remy only opens his eyes again when the car stops and Jubilee kills the engine. “Here we are. What do I tell Sergeant Pryde?”

“Personal emergency.”

Between the both of them, there’s an intense look exchanged, Jubilee exhaling deeply. “Text me,” is all she says, and Logan nods.

“Thank you,” he says, and gets out of the car, then opening the door to the back seat and gesturing for Remy to get out, which Remy does without a single word. He watches the police car drive off, feeling his heart beating an insane staccato rhythm in his chest. This is it, he’s gonna faint.

Logan’s hand is around his arm, Remy is unsure whether that is meant to keep him from running or to comfort either him or Logan, but either ways, he does not protest, and lets Logan steer him into the house, up the stairs and into the apartment easily.

“Take the handkerchief away, let’s see if you’re still bleedin’,” is the first thing Logan says once the door falls shut behind him, and Remy follows suit, Logan nodding, although he is still frowning. “Looks good. Do you need a painkiller? How likely is it you got a concussion?”

“No, and… I don’t think I have one. I feel fine. I was a lil’ drunk, I guess, and you’re making me really nervous, but…”

“Remy,” Logan says, and then falls quiet, the bloodied handkerchief still in his hands.

For a few tense moments, they just look at each other, and then Logan drops the handkerchief - Remy, confused, watches it descend, and is surprised when Logan pulls him in for a kiss. As soon as he’s established he’s not dreaming, he sighs at Logan’s lips - but before he can go deepening the kiss, Logan’s drawing away again.

“How the fuck are you here? Did you escape a state prison?”

“Uh,” Remy blinks, seemingly incapable of keeping his lips from twitching into a wide smile, “give me a-- give me a moment. You  _ kissed _ me.”

Logan huffs, lips pressed together, and Remy hurries to catch his hands before the other can turn away from him.

“I’m sorry. This is a mess, and it’s all my fault, because-- because through all my planning and plotting, I didn’t take into account how stupid I get when I’m in love.” Even as Logan’s eyes widen almost comically large, Remy can do no more than continue to grin at him. He can’t help himself - Logan kissed him! Before asking any questions! This is the best day  _ ever. _

“Right…”

“Come, let’s sit down. I’ll answer all your questions, I promise.”

“And I should believe a single word you tell me, because?”

“Because I’m done lying to you, Logan. And I was never  _ in _ a state prison.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Here, Remy shakes his head, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, I know. I’m still very proud of having pulled that off. But let me explain, yes?”

Logan lets himself be lead to his ratty couch without further protest, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Remy is  _ here _ and wanting to tell him fantastic stories about how he’s tricked everyone. Maybe he’s dreaming? But then, Logan grabs Remy’s wrist, exhaling deeply. Even though his hold must be toeing the line to  _ painful, _ Remy doesn’t utter a single word about it, just looking at Logan, waiting patiently for the other to find his words.

“Just, before we begin? Pinch me.”

“I could also blow you. Although, of course, you can orgasm in a dream, but…”

“Remy.”

“Fine, fine, we’ll do that later.” Remy reaches out, pinching Logan’s cheek between his fingers. “Well? Are we dreaming?”

When Logan just shakes his head, Remy smiles, and sits down in the recliner, gesturing for Logan to take the couch. “If I’m expected to keep my hands off of you for more than five seconds, I can’t sit next to you,” he explains, and Logan can’t quite suppress the smile this provokes on his face. This is  _ real. _ Remy is  _ right here. _

“Alright, so,” the Cajun begins, shifting in his seat until he looks as comfortable as can be, “you’ve heard of Fantomex, correct?”

“Yeah. Another of your friends?”

“Nah, I hate his guts. My biggest competition, if you so will. The morning before I came to meet you for the finale, I lured him into a trap, and got him tied up in a warehouse. Now, before I continue, you should probably know that me and  _ Darkholme _ go way back.”

“Ah,” says Logan, already hating where this is going. Remy smirks at him.

“I saved her daughter’s life a couple times. And her daughter saved my life a couple times. But more importantly, I bribed her with one of my stashes. She’s gotten cash, jewels, some select works of art, and could honestly retire tomorrow and move to some tropical island. Not that she will, she really does enjoy her work.”

“She’s dirty, so those are not exactly the words I’d use,” Logan grunts, and Remy shrugs at him.

“Eh, she was a big help. Remember the day you arrested me?”

Remy waits for Logan to nod before continuing.

“There were three agents involved. Beaubier would obviously be more concerned with you than me, and Claremont got some shit mixed into his drink. He passed out within a couple minutes after you leaving with Beaubier. So that left me leading Darkholme to the warehouse, and having her collect Fantomex as  _ Gambit _ . The recorded confession was tampered with, my voice distorted, and the few bits where my name was mentioned, there was a lot of  _ interference, _ you really gotta have some nerd friends if you plan to go into big-scale crime, white collar or otherwise… and of course, the arrest report was written by Darkholme. Nobody would bat an eye at the name suddenly being different, especially with how good Darkholme is at subtly manipulating people. She simply started dropping the name  _ Jean-Phillip Leclerc, _ and maybe some members of the team were a bit confused, but after a couple repetitions… well, the memory is a treacherous thing. It becomes what we believe. The one person who would’ve smelled foul immediately, you, was already gone.”

“So you put someone else in prison to sit off your crimes.”

“Hmm. He’s also been labelled as somewhat mentally unstable, so I don't see him getting out again, and he  _ has _ committed quite a few of the thefts I have dropped into my original confession, so Gambit is officially caught.”

“And unofficially?” The question is layered, that much is clear between them. Logan gives Remy a hard stare, and Remy doesn’t so much as flinch from it.

“Unofficially, Gambit is retired. I gave up some of my stolen goods, but of course not all of them, and definitely not the cash, I have money enough to make a comfortable life pretty much anywhere. The plan has always been to go to France.”

“You’re leaving?”

Remy’s eyes flick up to look at Logan, who has inched forward on the couch, giving his anxiety away with the way he is wringing his hands. It is a mirror image of how he is feeling at this moment, the poetics of which would probably be easier to appreciate if he wasn’t worrying about sweaty hands.

That thought was probably a mistake, since the first thing out of Remy’s mouth is “are my hands sweaty?”

Logan blinks, looking utterly confused. “What?”

“Uh, nevermind. The thing is… I _should_ leave. It’s been the plan forever. It would be nice and clean and the FBI could suck my dick. Technically, nobody is looking for me, but… see, this is stupid, but I cannot leave.”

The carpet is what Remy is staring at while he says that, hunched over a little. There’s a mysterious stain catching his attention, and with all respect and love towards Logan, he doesn’t think he wants to know what that is. In every other aspect, the man might be better than him, but he lives in a dump. In Remy’s place, the worst you’ll find is cats using the couch as a scratching post despite the perfectly fine scratching posts being provided.

With his attention so firmly Not On Logan, it is probably no wonder that when Logan’s hand is suddenly on his, it jolts Remy back to the present so quickly he almost gets whiplash, making the mistake of unthinkingly looking up and into Logan’s face. Logan’s expression is soft, somehow, his smile a little hesitant, but still there. “I’d be lying if I’d say I’m sad about that.”

“Really?” Embarrassingly, Remy’s voice is barely more than a croak. He tries to gather himself, clears his throat, “but I’m a little stuck here, and you and me…”

“Oh, this is where it gets interesting,” Logan grumbles, and Remy laughs, a little choked up.

“ _ Mon dieu, _ Logan. I’m still all of those bad things that you wanted to put into jail. Especially a thief. But I’ve also… I’ve hurt you.”

“That’s true,” Logan agrees, “you did. And I should march ya right back to a police van for everything you’ve just told me, but Remy… you’re a genius, the way you’ve twisted this? I’ve arrested you. Someone else has been processed. And all I know right now is that I never wanna be chasin’ you again, and if you’re done with stealin’ and not runnin’ off to France, I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, you kinda made being put in handcuffs into a bummer back there,” Remy mumbles, and Logan, who is now sitting almost at the armrest of the couch to be close enough to touch Remy, laughs lightly and tugs one of Remy’s hands towards him, just to hold it in between both of his.

“Do you think I wanted to arrest you?” Logan asks, scoffing lightly. You never gave me a choice, Remy. I had to. If the games were ever to end…”

“Are you saying you didn't want to?”

“I'm sayin’ you’re an idiot for even needing to ask me that question. Of course I didn't want to. It broke my heart. I was never gonna see ya again, and you think I was just _fine_ with that?”  


“Oh,” Remy says, softly. There's something a lot like surprise, and maybe a bit of awe, in his tone of voice, as if at this point _he_ suddenly became the one wondering whether he was dreaming this up.  


“What’s your plan, now? What are ya gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Remy admits, and exhales, “and that’s really… that’s terrifying. I’ve always had at least a little idea of what I was gonna steal next, and now I’m… not supposed to do that anymore.”

“Would be a good start, if you’re gonna start something serious with a detective,” Logan agrees easily, and the way he smiles at Remy is almost too much to take.

“You can’t forgive me this easily,” Remy almost pleads, _nothing is ever this good_ and he doesn’t trust it for one second, and Logan shakes his head.

“I’m not, Remy. I’m just… I’m too damn happy to have you here to care about bein’ angry or upset. There’s… I dunno if I can explain it, but you’re under my skin, jus’... weaseled your way in there, and I couldn’t go a day without thinkin’ of you, and I know that doesn’t matter. Eventually, it would’ve been less and less. But I never wanted to even try forget you.”

Remy tries to laugh, and it comes out sounding like a sob. “But you should be yelling at me, at least…”

Logan gets off of the couch, then, letting go of Remy’s hands and reaching out to brush Remy’s hair out of his face, using his thumb to wipe under Remy’s eye, and Remy didn’t even notice he started crying, is looking up at Logan, now standing in front of him, out of startled eyes.

“Screw it,” Logan says, “I don’t wanna yell at you. You’re here. Apparently I’ve got looser morals than anybody’s been expecting, and… I wanna try. ‘Cause it’s crazy, but what we’ve had was pullin’ the rug out from under me quicker than I’ve ever had that happen, and when you’re around, I feel… like I’m where I’m supposed to be, Remy. This is worth it, we’re worth giving this a try. Stay with me for a little bit, and if ya change your mind later, your escape plan is always on the table. I ain’t following you to France… they get really judgy about a Canadian accent.”

“ _ Dieu, _ ” Remy chokes out, and he’s smiling up at Logan now, “I don’t deserve you.”

Logan just scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Let me be the judge of that now, eh?”

He leans in for a kiss which has Remy melting into a proverbial puddle, humming contentedly when Logan draws back again, and his cheeks may be wet but those are  _ happy tears, _ goddamnit, okay? “Fine. Yeah. I want that too, but I got one condition. You gotta come over to my place, I gotta feed my kids, and your place stinks, literally, when’s the last time you tried airing this apartment?”

“Your kids,” Logan deadpans, ignoring the critique entirely, just raising a questioning eyebrow at Remy, which doesn’t seem to faze the Cajun, who’s just smiling up at him even wider, overmuch.

“Adorable furry ones. You’ll love them.”

“Hm. And about that blowjob I’ve been promised?”

“We’ll close the bedroom door on them to not be interrupted.”

Logan can’t even finish laughing, since Remy yanks him down onto the recliner for an intense make-out session right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bulk of the story is done! It's been killing me (in the best possible way) to keep all those plot points to myself, especially when you guys started speculating on the chances of a happy ending (I WAS SO TEMPTED TO JUST SAY...) or Remy escaping. NOW YOU KNOW. FINALLY.
> 
> As for this story: I plan to just write a little bit of an epilogue, but knowing myself it might get wordier than I'm expecting... we will see! But I have some more things I wanna talk about before closing the chapter on this AU, and I've been on a writing roll so will probably get those out fast. Unless it gets completely out of control. Which I wouldn't really be mad about either, but either way, there will be at least one more chapter. I like resolving things neat-ish, and these guys have so far 1. talked and 2. kissed, which is a GOOD START but there's so much more to come!
> 
> In this place, I wanna already say: thank you guys! Your feedback has been super validating and encouraging, and has kept me on the ball on this adventure!


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